


With Time, Anew

by bloodsongs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Seduction, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Fingerfucking, First Time, Light Bondage, M/M, Magic During Sex, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, Rimming, bottom!Arthur, teenage!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsongs/pseuds/bloodsongs
Summary: Merlin has been equal parts terrified of and crazy for Arthur, his beautiful and arrogant boss at Pendragon Pharmaceuticals for some years now.He's already resigned to the fact that Arthur's completely out of his league, but the universe just won't cut him any slack. During the most important lab presentation of Merlin's life, a deaging spell goes awry and turns Arthur back into his seventeen-year-old self: a brash, expressive and cheeky young man so different from the one he knows.Arthur has to stay in Merlin's flat while he races to develop a cure, and by God, the teenage Arthur's new penchant for flirting shamelessly with Merlin is going to be the death of him, it really is.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 614
Collections: Kink Me Merlin Non-anonymous Fills





	With Time, Anew

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](https://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/35615.html?thread=38583071#t38583071) on the KMM.

The clunky old lift finally reaches Merlin’s floor with a raspy _ding_. Sighing in exasperation, he edges past the doors that always take a little longer than forever to open, making another mental note to leave a sternly written note and a bribe of chocolates to be slipped to whoever’s in Procurement these days.

“Good morning,” Elena says, looking up from the reception desk under the massive, ominous letterings that read Pendragon Pharmaceuticals: Magical Research and Development and beaming at him, holding out his usual coffee. “I imagine you’ll be needing this.”

He waves a hand, unbuttoned cuff dangling off his wrist as he walks, and the cup floats gently to settle in his grip as he walks down the corridor to his office. “Thank you!” Merlin calls out, not needing to turn around to know that Elena is tutting and shaking her head at him fondly behind his back.

“Morning, Mr. Emrys— ” A new intern begins.

“Yes, hello, good day, sorry, no time to chat,” Merlin gets out in a rush, trying desperately to flatten his hair and straighten his tie and tuck in his slightly disheveled shirt all at the same time. His magic’s no good in the mornings for grooming; it tends to want to slick his hair back like it used to in the 80’s when that hairstyle was particularly trendy in school, and he’s not going to let it muck up his shirt when he’s about fifteen minutes away from conducting his first major presentation of the year.

“Good to see you, Merlin, nice bedhead you’ve got there. Very stylish!” Gwen says with her usual mountain of paperwork in her hands as he whizzes by, shooting a harried grin her way.

“I can’t help waking up naturally handsome,” he says, finally reaching his door and winking at her before shutting it abruptly, heaving a sigh before leaning against his door, taking in the mess of his table. Ten minutes until he has to go to the lab, and God help him, if Gwaine and the rest aren’t ready–

As if on cue, his office phone rings, and Merlin grimaces when he sees the caller ID beneath the hysterically blinking light next to his receiver. His fingers hover over it for a moment, wondering how it seems to be getting louder with every accursed ring before he finally picks up and holds it away from his face, closing an eye in the anticipation of getting yelled at.

“Merlin,” comes his superior’s voice, a veneer deadly calm. Or... there's that, which is actually worse than when Arthur's yelling at him.

“Yes, Mr. Pendragon,” Merlin manages, hoping that didn’t come out as a squeak. It probably did, though. “Um.”

“Your presentation starts in eight minutes. Shall I be seeing you in the lab anytime soon?” The unspoken declaration that Arthur is already there in another one of his finest suits and looking at his Rolex hangs thickly in the crackling of the telephone line, and Merlin swallows. Arthur’s always early, and it makes him wrong-footed.

“Sir. I mean, of course. My personnel are ready, I’m just getting some extra documents for you.” Ah, how many white lies has he told Arthur over the years whenever he gets nervous talking to Arthur on the phone like this? Talking to Arthur in person? Hell, and that’s saying nothing of the way he messes up completely simple tasks whenever Arthur’s in the immediate vicinity. “I will be there shortly to start.”

“See that you are.”

The soft click at the end of the line conveys an air of finality. Merlin exhales, smoothing the front of his shirt and turning to look at his reflection in the glass cabinet next to his desk, tugging at one of the loose, stubborn curls on his forehead that won’t stay down.

Right. Nothing for it.

He picks up all his files and runs through the back-up spells in his head one last time before slamming his office door open, striding out with purpose.

Arthur Pendragon may be his boss who’s equally intimidating and unfairly attractive, but Merlin’s been building up to this moment for months. They’ve made great progress on the project, worked tirelessly through all the sleepless, hair-pulling nights to get the tricky formulas of chemistry and magic right. He’s practiced, and practiced, and practiced — knows all the words to accompany his slides and demonstrations by heart.

It’s the chance to make his department truly shine — and to maybe get Arthur to notice him for something other than the way he trips over thin air in front of him.

What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

“Everything,” Merlin says, feeling the sweat drip down the hollow of his back inside the too-stifling constraints of all the layers he’s got on: the thin cotton shirt with his lucky tie coming undone a little from all the fiddling he’s been doing when Arthur’s not looking and his lab coat, which feels terribly heavy all of a sudden. “Everything we know about anti-aging pharmaceuticals will change. This anti-aging cream is new, unprecedented. If you’ll forgive me the cliché, revolutionary. It’s also compliant to the magical manufacturing ISO standards which were implemented last year, which will allow us a significant advantage over other products in similar lines in the market.” 

He’s really just on autopilot now, his throat going dry at having Arthur’s complete and undivided attention. Granted, Arthur for all his brusqueness is an attentive if terrifying superior – he always listens, always asks, and every employee matters to him. Despite his default aloofness, his generosity and fairness in the company and his dropping by Magical R&D to check if Merlin’s overworking himself are a few examples of why most of Merlin’s coworkers are fiercely loyal to him, and why Merlin’s a little head over heels in love with the man the way someone might call a full-blown typhoon a ‘little spot of rain’.

It’s not the time to indirectly reminisce or contemplate on how he’s probably secretly the lead heroine of a cheesy office-based soap, so Merlin waves a hand and nods at Gwaine to take his cue. “And now, Mr. Pendragon, if you’ll allow me to demonstrate.”

“Arthur, please,” Arthur says, eyes still serious but his lips curling just the slightest bit.

“Oh.” He’s never asked Merlin to call him by his given name before. Merlin’s hands freeze in mid-air where he’s gesturing, and a few muffled chuckles go up around the room – the only person not aware of Merlin’s gigantic crush on Arthur in Pendragon Pharmaceuticals is probably Arthur himself. Well, okay, and maybe Uther Pendragon, Arthur’s father and executive chairman. “Yes. Um. Arthur, if you’ll allow me...”

“You’ve mentioned that already,” Arthur says mildly, eyes flicking over to Gwaine who straightens up abruptly like he wasn’t the person who was snickering the loudest in the room just a few seconds earlier, before nodding and holding up a hand when Merlin blusters and starts to flail wildly. 

“No, it’s fine. So, the Elixir du Avalon,” Arthur prompts.

Closing his eyes briefly, Merlin lets out a breath, his face burning as he gives Arthur an apologetic look. Arthur responds with a neutral, encouraging smile in turn, which actually does put a rest to some of his more paranoid thoughts that his presentation’s already halfway down the drain. “Right.” He holds his hands out, tilts his head for Freya, one of his senior scientists to come forward. “Freya handles biocompatibility and magical testing. She will be assisting me in displaying the results of our product when applied, live. Over to you, Freya.”

“Mr. Pendragon,” she says softly, long braid falling over her shoulder as she adjusts her thin glasses, gaze sharp and focused as is her wont. Merlin feels immeasurably proud of her all of a sudden, even a little sentimental – they’d had a bit of a thing, once, but never acted on it, deciding they were better as best friends and a snarky comedic duo in the lab, much to everyone else’s amusement. He’s never told her implicitly about Arthur, either, but when she straightens and turns a knowing look his way, Merlin has to admit that maybe he’s been a little too obvious. 

“To start with – we are aware of and fully respect the company’s ethical take on cruelty towards animal subjects you instilled, especially with our involvement in the pharmaceutical and medical industry. As you know, however, magical testing is different, and we are able to reverse any testings we have done with few to no ill effects. Our mice are healthy.” Freya lowers her hands to release a small mouse with a blinking magical signature tag attached to its right ear into the shallow dip of the circular, concave table in front of them, a design that she and Merlin devised. 

“Today, I will show you a variant of the deaging spell used with the cream that will return our five-month old Carla to the age of just three weeks. The parameters are controlled with the spell.”

“Do you have an estimation on how different these parameters will vary when applied for human use?” Arthur asks, flipping through the documents that Merlin prepared for him with helpful tabbing and colour codes. Gwaine had teased him endlessly about it, saying he should leave a little heart there for Arthur to find so he’d finally get a hint. “It’s something that goes without saying, but with magic as an additional factor...”

Freya nods at Merlin, who steps forward to answer. “A combination of different, additional ingredients may be in order, but now that we have identified a sound process to generate results for mice, we can work steadily towards developing a complete solution for this de-aging product.”

“Good.” Shutting the last of Merlin’s neatly bound appendices, Arthur leans forward, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. “Very good. Now, show me.”

“At once, sir —”

Arthur coughs meaningfully, and everyone else in their corner of the lab suddenly seems very interested in the ceiling.

Merlin scratches briefly at his chin, hoping he’s not blushing too violently. “At once, Arthur. Please, Freya, if you’d be so kind.”

“Yes, Mr. Emrys.” She winks at him when she’s sure Arthur’s not looking, and Merlin narrows his eyes at her in a way that hopefully conveys _when we are done, we will have words about your insubordination._ Freya just smirks and waggles her eyebrows back at Arthur before glancing at the spell she’s written on the back of a cue card. She begins to recite, a hand hovering over the centre of the table where the mouse is as the runes Merlin’s written there in his messy cursive begin to glow. 

He’s certain she’s memorised it over the last fortnight since they’d perfected this formula, but they can’t risk even a single mispronunciation.

The mouse squeaks and snuffles curiously, inclining its head while its whiskers twitch.

“We applied the cream beforehand,” Merlin says over Freya’s quiet chanting, linking his fingers tightly behind his back and fidgeting. “Um. To save time. Yes.”

“Merlin?” Arthur says, without looking at him.

“Sir?”

“It’s Arthur, and do shut up.”

He drops his hands to the side, mouth agape with indignation. “I—”

Arthur turns to him with raised eyebrows. “You talk more when you’re nervous. And you know you’re the head of your department for a reason, right?”

“Oh.” Was that actually intended as a compliment? “All right. Arthur.”

“So you _can_ learn.” Arthur resumes tapping at the edge of the table, his thumb ring – and how had Merlin never noticed that before? – making a ringing, chiming echo against the steel of it. 

If Merlin didn’t end up so distracted by how even a simple thumb ring could make Arthur Pendragon even more appealing than he already is, he would feel a lot more affronted at Arthur’s words, even if they had a teasing tone to them. Right now, he’s just suddenly thrown by the mental image of how the cool ring would feel like against skin, and if, of all things, Arthur wanks while he has it on.

Well, that’s not just it, really.

If Merlin didn’t end up so suddenly distracted by all of Arthur, he would’ve noticed Carla’s tail flicking and her ears perking up at the sound and shine of Arthur’s ring. He would’ve noticed how close Arthur’s hands were hanging just over the edge of the table.

Close enough for the over-socialised mouse (Merlin would blame Freya for crooning too often at her much later) to break into an excited little run for the nearest fingers she could see, the association for pats and crumbs of food already firmly implanted in her mind.

She makes the leap just as Freya looks up and finishes her chanting, eyes going wide, the magic emanating in glowing white pulses from her palm towards the mouse, who quickly runs up Arthur’s arm and loses her footing, falling to the ground with a confused little squeak.

Merlin watches in horror as Arthur stumbles backward with a hand in front of his face, knocking his chair over even while the spell hits him, enveloping the entire lab in a white-hot flare of light.

“Shit, Merlin, shit, I didn’t mean to!” Freya says, clapping her hand to her mouth as everyone else scrambles to their feet in a chaotic wave united only in panic. “Oh, God. Mr. Pendragon — ”

Thrusting an arm out in front of him, Merlin splays his fingers wide and pulls it around the table in an arc, effectively forming a barrier between his team and Arthur, who’s shaking on the floor, lines of light lifting from his body. “Have I taught you nothing about crisis management in the lab?” Merlin snaps, channeling bravado he’s not actually feeling with his heart in his throat as he holds the barrier there, pushing them back, knowing his eyes are a vivid, furious gold. Mollified, Gwaine and Freya step back, and the others who’ve probably never seen Merlin this angry immediately shuffle away. They’re probably realising for the first time why Merlin is deemed the most powerful magic user in the company and one of the most headhunted magical scientists of his time. “Stay back. Get me some water on standby, and two of you get magical containment setup if necessary. Go!”

“Yes, sir,” Gwaine says, slipping into his professional mode and walking briskly over to prepare what Merlin asked of him, for which Merlin will be, as always, eternally grateful. Everyone doesn’t take Gwaine seriously, but Merlin knows above all else the potential his senior scientist has and how he can actually get shite done around the lab when Merlin cracks his proverbial whip.

He lets the barrier fall away when he can sense the air of panic in the room subsiding, and concentrates instead on Arthur. Mishaps are common in the lab, but they’ve never had such a severe accident with the whole body of a spell meant and designed for an animal hitting a human instead. Worse, their _boss_. But that’s not Merlin’s chief concern when he waves a hand down his front, not even needing to murmur the protection spell with how many years he’s been on the job, and kneels down next to the crumpled body on the floor while he pulls his gloves on.

“Arthur,” he says, careful not to shake him, supporting Arthur’s neck to try and shift him on his back. Merlin can’t tell if Arthur’s all right from here, with all the hair obscuring his features – nothing’s prepared him for the possible side effects that could’ve resulted from such a spell. He runs diagnostics quickly, scans through the runes that appear in the air, and is relieved to see that at least Arthur seems healthy and that nothing is amiss.

And then Arthur’s fringe falls back from his face.

Merlin’s breath catches from the shock of it, at seeing Arthur so closely, but more importantly – at the dips and lines and shadows of stubble that _should_ be there, that he knew had been there not ten minutes ago. He brushes Arthur’s blond hair back from his forehead, stroking a shaking hand down the now smooth skin of his cheek, with only a hint of whiskers.

“Oh, hell,” Merlin utters to himself, looking heavenward at the ceiling, the lightbulbs broken and useless after the magic explosion. Arthur is in his early thirties; Merlin knows this because he once plied Leon at the last company do with so many dreadful cocktails until he’d drunkenly succumbed to Merlin’s many questions about just which year he and Arthur had attended school together, the kinds of things Arthur did in his spare time when he wasn’t going around glowering at people and most importantly, what kind of blokes or birds Arthur fancied, because the grapevine had helpfully supplied that Arthur was possibly bisexual and Merlin’s hopes had shot through the roof. 

So, yes. Merlin knows Arthur’s in his early thirties — and that he enjoys classical music, but nothing of Arthur’s tastes in men and women because Leon had been useless in that department — and the, the _boy_ in his arms, he realises with growing hysteria, is definitely not his thirty-something superior.

“Fuck,” Gwaine says behind him, echoing his thoughts, and Merlin has no time to agree with that out loud when Arthur stirs, blinking through the hair in his face. 

“What,” Arthur starts, looking unfairly, adorably confused as he tries to sit up, bleary. “Merlin?”

“Take it easy, Mr. Pen — Arthur.” It’s still strange saying that, but it makes a lot more sense now that he’s addressing the teenaged version of his boss. “You took quite a blow. How are you feeling?”

“Head hurts,” Arthur mumbles, shaking his head, before stilling and pausing. He looks slowly up at Merlin, and then speaks again, slowly. “My voice. It sounds...”

Where Arthur Pendragon the elder spoke with cool eloquence and a rich, husky edge to his tone, this Arthur’s voice is youthful. A little sharper, uncertain, but still full of the charisma and natural inclination to command that draws your attention to it immediately. And that’s how Merlin finds himself helplessly taken by the sound of Arthur’s voice like this, the way he always is whenever Arthur speaks, only different.

“There was an accident.” Merlin swallows. Now that any immediate danger to Arthur’s being is out of the way, it occurs to him that beyond his lightning-quick response to addressing contingencies in the lab, he has no idea how to break this to Arthur, who seems to be slowly registering the inherent wrongness of the situation, fidgeting and squirming out of Merlin’s arms, the now loose suit falling off the shoulders of his narrower frame. “The spell — ”

Without a word, Arthur gets to his feet, shrugging off his coat entirely. The entire lab holds its breath as Arthur makes a beeline for the sink in corner with a large mirror above it. It’s something, seeing Arthur shuffle over to it with his shirt cuffs dangling over his fingertips, gangly and awkward.

Arthur grips the sink tightly when he gets there, closing his eyes before he lifts his head to meet his younger self’s gaze in his reflection. Merlin hears rather than sees him do it, because of the sharp gasp that escapes him when he registers everything.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Arthur says, pressing a palm to his face and pushing back his hair, gritting his teeth before he skulks back to Merlin.

“Arthur, I am so, so sorry,” Merlin begins, stepping in front of his team, gesturing behind his back for them to move away. They don’t, remaining stubbornly there with their chins high and moving together instead to form a wall of support behind Merlin. He glares at them, but Freya and Gwaine who’re at the forefront of the line glare right back; he knows there’s no forcing them like this. “The department is not to be held accountable for this, I will take full responsibility. If you need to take action –”

Rolling up his sleeves, Arthur scowls darkly at how baggy his shirt is now before cutting Merlin off. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not going to fire you.” That sounds a little preposterous coming from him now, but Merlin’s able to keep his big mouth shut for once as he sees Arthur’s hands hang loosely at his side, curling into fists and uncurling. He looks lost, Merlin realises, eyes wide and brows knit so tightly it must hurt. “I—” Taking a deep breath, Arthur sits down on a chair. “You said a variation for humans hasn’t been developed yet. How will we reverse this?”

Merlin has been dreading that question. “We will,” he promises, knowing the department can deliver. It’s just – “But we need time, and we’ll need to examine you, to research and come up with a counterspell.”

“I was afraid of that.” Arthur looks to the side, his impossibly young profile unsettling Merlin with the contrast of his fingers fumbling at his collar to undo and loosen his tie. “How long? Be honest,” he snaps, when Merlin opens his mouth to answer and closes it abruptly again, stunned and a little peeved at Arthur’s tone. Then again, Arthur has every right to be annoyed; furious, even. “I need to know, so I can make arrangements.”

“A month,” Merlin says hesitantly, grimacing, and withdraws a little into himself at the icy force of Arthur’s glare. It’s a lot more muted, since Arthur’s missing out on the fifteen years or so he must have had to perfect his legendary black look that has been known to cow even the senior board members into submission. Considering how terrifying Uther Pendragon is, it’s not hard to see where Arthur gets it from. “Maybe a little longer.”

Arthur starts to pace. “Can’t believe this,” he mutters to himself, still glaring but at nothing in particular, running his fingers through his hair repeatedly. “Okay, no one can know about this. No one. Yeah? The press will have a field day if they get a whiff of this, what with all the controversy around the amended laws and restrictions on magical products.”

“Of course.” Merlin’s gripping his linked fingers so tightly together they’re biting into his skin, his guilt and disappointment churning in his stomach. 

“I can’t – I can’t go back to mine.” Arthur throws his hands up, swearing, and that’s new, too. He must’ve been a mouthy kid in school. “Can’t drive my car, but someone could pass my spare key to Leon for him to do it. I’ll call, tell him it’s an emergency. But I can’t drive it, if anyone checks my license it’s going to be fucking obvious I’m not thirty-three—” The timing is completely inappropriate, but Merlin gives an internal whoop and files that away like the not-stalker he is. “Hell.”

No one dares to say anything, and for all their bravado earlier, they’re inching away from Merlin and Arthur now that they’re certain Arthur isn’t going to tear Merlin a new one for what just happened. His team is loyal to a fault, but they can also be a right bunch of wusses. Merlin clears his throat to get Arthur’s attention after a few long, agonising minutes.

“You could,” he begins, heart thudding in his chest, “Stay with me. At my flat.”

Arthur looks at him in surprise. They stay like that for a moment while Merlin’s words sink in for the both of them, Arthur frozen mid-pace with his thumbs in his pockets, Merlin pulling nervously at his lab coat and resisting the urge to jump out a window.

And then Arthur, unexpectedly, grins. “Merlin,” he says, walking over to him, tilting his head. “You haven’t even asked me out to dinner yet, and you want me to move in?”

Merlin’s jaw drops. A storm of tittering begins behind him, and he can make out Freya’s attempts at coughing over her giggling and Gwaine’s clutching at his sides from the corner of his eye. “I,” he stammers, stepping back when Arthur leans forward to look up at him from beneath his fringe, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not why I asked! I mean.”

“I was joking.” Laughing, Arthur walks past Merlin, winking and patting the front of his chest as he does. He’s a little shorter than Merlin now that he’s seen him up close. Picking up his suit, Arthur turns around to face him, a hand on his hip. Even baggy clothes look good on him, the cocky little bastard. “I appreciate the offer, and would like to take you up on it. Thank you.”

With his mouth opening and closing like a fish, Merlin’s aware of how much of an idiot he looks like, but Arthur Pendragon has _just flirted with him_ so he thinks his response or lack thereof is warranted. It’s only, oh, the one thing he’s allowed himself to imagine over the last few years to get through particularly dreary audit periods, entertaining the possibility of Arthur teasing him about something unintentionally in that low voice of his and sighing when he’s only called to Arthur’s office to get yelled at.

“That means yes,” Gwaine says, going up to Merlin and whispering, nudging him. 

“Oh, shut up.” He bats Gwaine away, certain his ears are turning pink. His team has just been served an entire year’s worth of blackmail material on a silver platter. Maybe a decade, even. He can hear Freya’s scheming thoughts all the way from where he’s standing. “Arthur, are you sure?”

“I don’t have a better alternative. My sister is out of the country, and my father—”

If Merlin thought the lab had been quiet before, it’s nothing compared to the blanket of pin-drop silence that falls now as every single one in the room, including Arthur, spares a moment of terror to visualise the wrath of Uther Pendragon if word of this ever got out, complete with roaring flames and torture chambers in the background. 

“Right,” Merlin says, voice almost a croak. “My place it is.”

Arthur looks positively traumatised. “Your place it is.”

* * *

And that’s how they end up at Merlin’s at a little past two in the afternoon, having sneaked out of the building via a combination of attention-diverting spells and careful manoeuvring around pillars and the lesser-known shortcuts around Pendragon Pharmaceuticals. It’s almost like a Bond movie sans the explosives, guns and gratuitous female nudity. He tries not to think about how fucking great Arthur would look like as James Bond, though, especially now that Arthur’s fresh out of jailbait-zone.

Oh, and Arthur had flirted with him. 

He’s still screaming internally, trying to figure out what any of it means while mentally throttling himself for reading too much in it. No one’s ever seen Arthur with anyone at company dos since Merlin started working for him, male or female. He’s always shown up stag for events, escaping drunken admirers attempting to corner him with the kind of charming, effortless sleight of hand that someone with Arthur’s kind of good looks must be used to practicing.

Merlin? Merlin’s never approached Arthur. He’d been and still is the wallflower type, the sort to nurse his drink in a hidden corner while watching Arthur talk to men and women who aren’t him, throwing his head back and laughing before artfully flitting over to another group of people to network. In hindsight, it’s no small wonder that virtually everyone had eventually picked up on Merlin’s massive crush on Arthur – Arthur’s always oozed the kind of charisma and quiet competence that gets Merlin weak in the knees, and Merlin has never been able to take his eyes off him.

Even now. Actually, especially now, given how Arthur’s unbuttoning his shirt in Merlin’s living room, casual as you please.

“What are you doing?” He yelps, scandalised.

“Oh.” Arthur’s fingers still on where he’s undoing his fourth button, his collarbones and sliver of tanned skin showing through the gap. “Yeah, be a mate and get me a spare shirt, will you? I can’t go out in this,” he adds, gesturing at his loose shirt. Probably something he’d gotten tailored in Italy before strolling out to have an exquisite bottle of wine overlooking the ocean. Or something. Fuck if Merlin knows how rich people think. “And we’ll need to go out and get me some spare clothes that actually fit me, I can’t rely on your wardrobe while I’m staying here.”

He can’t argue with that, but a part of Merlin wants to cuff Arthur upside the head for his teenaged cheek until his brain catches up with the really bad idea and kicks it to the curb. “I’ll go get a change of clothes for you,” Merlin says, feeling awkwardly like a butler or a manservant. 

“Cheers,” Arthur says absently. His back is turned towards Merlin as he pulls his fully unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, draping it carefully over one of Merlin’s dining chairs. 

Chastising his inner pervert, Merlin blushes furiously and quickly grabs some of his bigger shirts and trousers from his room, holding them out gingerly in front of him for Arthur who’s now lounging on Merlin’s small red sofa. “Um. Here.”

Arthur’s toothy smile is blinding. “Ace. Thanks, Merlin.” 

Bloody hell, Arthur’s the most fucking attractive teenager he’s ever seen, all snug in Merlin’s shirt that’s still a bit tight even on his narrower frame. And in his trousers — probably the only time Arthur Pendragon will ever be in Merlin’s pants, if you’re not being specific. Ahem.

Merlin’s going to hell for this. His cheeks continue to burn as he wills himself to look away from Arthur’s terribly fit arse with no small amount of regret. He’s doomed. 

“Right. Shall we go?”

* * *

Merlin may have dated a couple of women before he’d decided he had a thing for rippling muscles and stubble burn, but he’s never seen anyone clean out a department store the way Arthur just did in one casual, phone-browsing and credit card brandishing swoop. Just goes to show what he knows about stereotypes.

“Generous... benefactor you have there,” a cashier remarks at one point, raising her eyebrow suspiciously at Merlin and narrowing her eyes in the subtly accusing, passive-aggressive condemnation of Merlin’s supposed cradle robbery. Merlin supposes he can’t blame her, what with him still being in his rumpled shirt from work and Arthur looking like a high school student in Merlin’s tight khakis. Merlin’s clothes look great on him, and Merlin tries valiantly not to think about how the only people who’ve been in his clothes other than himself were men who borrowed them after they’d had a good, rough fuck on the very sofa Arthur had been lounging on just hours earlier. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Him?” Arthur flicks a quick glance at Merlin, quirking a smile. He looks good with smiles, Merlin thinks suddenly, wondering why he’s never seen Arthur smile much. “No, he’s a cousin. The credit card’s my father’s,” Arthur lies easily, voice smooth as he scribbles his neat _A.Pendragon_ signature on the dotted line. “Supplementary. He’s... never around, so my father compensates in other ways.”

That doesn’t sound entirely like a lie, but Arthur looks away, the line of his neck tensing. Merlin decides not to broach the subject and offers gently to take another one of Arthur’s many bags, instead, placing a hand on his shoulder. The cashier gives him one last Look™ before they leave, but as far as Merlin’s concerned, she can think whatever the hell she wants. It’s preposterous anyway. A dishy, gorgeous bloke like (the considerably younger) Arthur Pendragon, on his arm? Ha. If she only knew.

“So!” Merlin says brightly, sweat trickling down his side from the exertion of carrying the ten bags or so on both of his arms while Arthur just hums and handles his own bags over his shoulder with ease. That’s probably to be expected from the three-time gold medalist of the yearly Pendragon Pharmaceuticals half-marathon, though. “Food. Shall we get food? I like food.”

“There’s an idea. I’m starving.” Arthur taps a finger on his chin, leaning against a wall of the arcade and obscuring several neon-bright music posters. “What do you feel like?”

“Um.” He sets the bags down for a while, wincing and shaking his hands which seem to have gone numb at the wrists. Arthur looks at him, amused. “I usually cook at home, so. It’s mostly fast food places this area of town. I don’t know if there’s anywhere fancy around here, so—”

“Fancy?” Arthur scoffs, rolling his eyes. Merlin stares, jaw agape. “Nah. Let’s go get some fish and chips.”

“Fish and chips?” Merlin repeats, while Arthur tugs at him to get a move on. He likes his own vinegar-drenched fish and chips just fine, but given Arthur’s impeccable taste in caviar and wine at company dinners, Merlin feels a little embarrassed at potentially revealing his dreadfully sloppy eating habits. Great; now all Merlin needs is a plate of pasta marinara and a white shirt to complete the nervous first date impression. “We could — I could always drive us somewhere, if you want. Mr. Pendragon.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows again.

“I mean, Arthur,” Merlin corrects, running a hand through his hair. This is going to take some getting used to, talking so familiarly to his boss.

“Fish and chips.” Arthur insists, tightening his grip on Merlin’s arm as he frowns. It’s kind of fucking adorable. “Let’s, I haven’t had any in _ages._ ”

They find a stand around a neighbouring park after a spot of walking, leaning against the bridge’s railings as couples walk past and children run after their dogs, screaming excitedly. The wonderful smell of freshly fried battered fish assaults his senses in all the best ways when he unwraps it like a gift, grinning at Arthur. “Okay, yeah. Brilliant idea.”

Arthur snorts before taking a huge bite out of his fish _._ “My ideas always are.”

“Well,” Merlin clears his throat, daring a look Arthur’s way. When Arthur waves impatiently with a _go ahead_ glance, Merlin adds, “You _did_ hire me.” He would never say any of these outrageous things with Arthur’s full fifteen years or so back on his normal self, but this Arthur is... different. Open and keen on talking like this with Merlin, even. Quick to smile and a devil-may-care slant to his swagger – it makes Merlin want to tease him, joke with him, and God forbid, flirt with him.

He’s not the uptight, withdrawn man that’s occupied Merlin’s thoughts, stirring all the _what if_ s and the desire to see the man behind the suit, all alone in his office on the penultimate floor with his back to the door and everyone else outside as he looks over the sprawling cityscape. But there’s something indescribable about Arthur that doesn’t go away no matter how many years you take off him, it seems: the raw magnetism that just _pulls_ you in, his intelligence, or the easy way he has with people when he’s not occasionally being an oblivious, insensitive ass.

This is the man behind the suit – the recklessness and excitement of his earlier years before whatever gradual transformation that befell him in his twenties had made him the serious and unrelenting managing director of Pendragon Pharmaceuticals. Merlin had grown to love that broad-shouldered silhouette from afar, wanting _more_. 

“That I did,” Arthur says, grinning his crooked smile, his voice pulling Merlin out of his reverie. Munching his chips, Arthur strokes his chin as if in contemplation. “Proof that I sometimes get bad ideas, after all.”

“Hey,” Merlin objects.

Shaking his head, Arthur stretches out his hands, resting his elbows on the railing to look down at the rippling blue-green of the water below. “I mean, Merlin, your _ears._ And that insolent mouth on you.”

Merlin automatically claps his hands over his ears, years of teasing at school having honed his reflexes to an alarming degree. “That’s mean,” he says, a little hurt.

“I was pulling your leg!” Leaning over, Arthur thumps him on the back, looking at him. “Lighten up.”

“You never joke,” Merlin huffs, because, yes, Arthur the adult never jokes, as serious a businessman as they come. The knot of tension in his stomach that coils tight whenever Arthur’s around for more reasons than one is slowly loosening with every minute in Arthur’s company like this, however, and it’s nice. 

“I interviewed you. And Lancelot was there.”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause as Merlin scrunches up what’s left of his greasy newspaper into a ball and throws it at a bin, only to miss it entirely. He musters up his courage. “No idea why I agreed to work for you,” he says, "You insulted my accent.”

“I said I was sorry!” 

Arthur had actually been quite mean about it for a bit, and Merlin remembered being too shell-shocked to speak, not knowing what Arthur’s last name was at the time. At least, until Lancelot had shifted in his seat to whisper hastily at Arthur and Merlin had stood up, telling Arthur exactly what he thought of him at that moment, how he’d work with him over his dead body and where he could shove his prattishness where the sun didn’t shine. 

There’d been the world’s most terrible silence when Arthur had blinked at him, looking just as shocked as Merlin probably did at his outburst, before awkwardly saying, “That was my bad. You are a prime candidate for this position, and I don’t wish to affect your views of this company with my moment of stupidity. Please accept my apology.”

Five minutes later, Merlin was officially hired, mollified by the rawness of Arthur’s genuinely contrite expression. And then Lancelot had sat down beside him in the waiting room to tell him that Arthur _Pendragon_ extended his thanks and, judging from the letter of offer, a more than competitive salary that would beat any other company so much as thinking of hiring Merlin in two seconds flat. 

Come to think about it, Merlin had already been disarmed by how good-looking Arthur was from the first minute he’d met him even before the earnest and heartfelt apology, which'd made him even more wrong-footed.

He'd probably been doomed from the start.

“Yeah, yeah. At least you bought me lunch.”

“Eventually, since you kept trying to avoid me.” Arthur narrows his eyes with an expression much too mature for his current face. 

Merlin coughs. “Well, I... Didn’t know you were Arthur Pendragon at the time. I’d totally bollixed things up.”

“Right.” Arthur looks down at the water. “Obviously. No one ever talks to me out of _consideration_ for my last name.”

Blinking, Merlin dares to move a little closer, elbow nudging at Arthur’s. “It’s not that. You weren’t very nice at all, but I didn’t think I’d be working directly under you.”

“How generous of you – surely you meant I was a bit of a pillock.”

“I thought you were someone working with Lancelot in HR.”

“Would you’ve given me such a dressing down, then, regardless?” Arthur looks at him, curious.

“Oh, I’d do it again in heartbeat.” Merlin grins, tilting his head. They leave the bridge, walking down the long riverside road back to Merlin’s apartment. “You may sign my paycheck, but I never let bullies have their way. Too much of that in university.”

Clucking in fake sympathy, Arthur pushes at Merlin with his shoulder. “ _So_ sorry for your suffering, do you need a moment?”

“I bet you were one of those boys that teased poor blighters like me in school.” And the worst part was that they were usually the most attractive ones with their cutting smirks and swaggers. Merlin’s teenage hormones had a difficult time deciding between hating them and wanting to fuck them against hidden library walls to put them in their place.

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Arthur laughs. “Bet they just couldn’t resist.”

“Hmm?” Merlin says absently, turning the corner to his place and avoiding tripping over an affectionate stray cat.

“You really work people up. Not in a bad way.” Arthur leans against the wall while Merlin rummages for the keys to his place, fingers wading through the bottomless holes of his pockets until he hears the familiar jangle. “You just make us want to push you.”

“Is that why I couldn’t catch a break around you, ever?” Merlin says dryly, ushering Arthur to sit down and moving over to the kitchenette to put the kettle on. “You were such a slavedriver.”

Turning around with his knees digging into the cushions, Arthur folds his arms over the top of the couch to look at Merlin. “But you delivered.”

“Yes, well.” The mixed scents of tea leaves in his pantry assaults him when he opens the doors, as does a random moth flying into his face. It’s a little sad how he is such a textbook scatterbrained scientist stereotype at times, Merlin muses, reaching for the tin of chamomile. “Had to perform.” 

For the appraisals and reviews, yes, but Merlin had largely bent over backwards to meet Arthur's ridiculous benchmarks at first just to have that quiet, crooked smile directed his way. Well, he wouldn't have minded bending _Arthur_ over in a completely different way, not that Arthur ever has to know.

“And you yelled at me one day anyway for overworking you. Even if you were so apologetic after.” Arthur sounds almost wistful. “You know, Guinevere still mentions it, every now and then.”

“Does she?” Merlin taps his fingers against the counter. This is news. While Arthur’s not the type to hold grudges, he wouldn’t have expected Arthur to look upon that memory _fondly_ , of all things. “Careful, one would almost think you liked me yelling at you.”

Rubbing his thumb against his mouth, Arthur stills and looks at him, contemplative, before his face breaks into a sly smile. “If I did, it’s probably because you have the whole hot professor thing going on.”

Merlin nearly drops the kettle.

“So what will we be doing tomorrow?” Arthur asks as if the last sentence out of his mouth didn’t exist, scrambling off the sofa and paying very close attention to the steeping tea. 

Merlin narrows his eyes at the back of Arthur’s head, wondering if he can bore holes through it. “We’ll have to go back to my lab,” he says, taking the pot from under Arthur’s nose and whisking it away to the coffee table. “Get you tested.”

Arthur makes a face.

“Check what affected you magically,” Merlin amends hastily at Arthur’s expression, passing him a cup. “We need some of our scanning machines at the lab. Even spells have limitations, but at least there’s nothing wrong with your health.”

“So we’ll have to pull another round of stealthy ninja moves?” Arthur says. “I mean, fun, but seriously, if my father catches us, we’re dead meat.”

“I’ll...” He takes a sip of much-needed chamomile. “Well, we got out just fine, didn’t we?”

“About that.” Arthur folds his arms, shaking his head at Merlin. “I’ll have to talk to security. After all this. How a bumbling scientist managed to get past their protection spells and surveillance equipment combined is beyond me, no matter how good you are.”

Merlin hums, looking at Arthur from over the rim of his cup. “But you see,” he murmurs, letting his eyes glow as he fixes his gaze on Arthur’s cup and making a reckless decision in a split-second, “I am _very_ good.”

When his cup begins to levitate, Arthur upends his saucer in his surprise, but Merlin catches that with his magic as well in mid-air where they just don’t move. He drifts them slowly back to Arthur’s open hands.

“What was,” Arthur begins, looking from his cup to Merlin, and back to his cup again. There’s a familiar trace of the stubborn look that Arthur wears in this younger face, brows knitted together when he doesn’t get something but doesn’t want to admit it, and Merlin finds himself smiling. “That wasn’t just levitation.”

“That was one of the reasons why I’m good at my profession, Arthur.” Merlin sets his own cup down and links his fingers together over his knees. “It helps a lot with the tricky compounds that need magic to work when I can stop time.”

In the silence that follows, Merlin second-guesses his little stunt, especially when Arthur swallows and looks at Merlin as if seeing him in a different light. “Christ.”

“Oh.” Crestfallen, he’s a little surprised at how the thought of Arthur thinking him a freak like many of his classmates did in university hurts more he thought it would. “Well, it’s not common. I just use it for chemistry, usually, see. Or if I’m cooking. It’s just like any other—”

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupts him, a hand on Merlin’s knee. “It’s fine. I just didn’t expect that. I’m still getting used to magic, okay?”

Uther Pendragon’s opposition to incorporating magical methods and strengtheners in the manufacturing of his products has been the talk of the industry for decades, so yes, Merlin gets it. In a rare move against his father’s wishes, Arthur had established the new magical research and development department and hired Merlin to head it all those years ago. Arthur’s decision and the reasoning behind it has always been kept tightly guarded, but Merlin knows enough to draw the conclusion that until very recently – namely, Morgana Pendragon’s leaving the company — Arthur had shared his father’s vicious views on magic. Until he didn’t. Merlin’s not going to question that. “All right. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“Me?” Arthur says disbelievingly, like he hadn’t completely lost it when he’d seen a tilted teacup and saucer hanging unmoving in the air. “You’d have to try harder than that, mate.”

Merlin rolls his eyes.

_Teenagers._

* * *

It’s even more of a breeze getting past security in the morning, and by the time they reach the lab with all of the equipment dutifully prepared for Merlin by his department, Arthur’s largely given up on giving Merlin incredulous looks with every guard he subtly misdirects.

“Were you some kind of mastermind in school?” Arthur asks as Merlin guides him to a chair and crafts magical runic bracelets around his wrists. “I bet you got up to all kinds of mischief.”

“Sit back and relax. And no, not really, just up to no good during my free periods,” Merlin replies absently, tapping on the glowing rings around Arthur’s hands and smoothing his palm over the screen behind him so it starts responding with magical readings. He doesn’t feel so awkward talking so casually with Arthur anymore – his boss and young charge is surprisingly easy to talk to, unlike the adult version of himself.

“Just you?” Arthur asks, looking down at his wrists and wiggling his fingers. “Oh, I know. Had a bird on the side, did you?”

Merlin stares at him, opening his mouth. “That’s... no!”

“It’s all right, Merlin,” Arthur says, almost wisely. “We do foolish things in the name of love when we’re young, don’t we?”

“You’re —” Merlin squints at the screen. “Seventeen right now, you’re one to talk.”

“I’m older than you in reality!”

Merlin coughs delicately.

“Whatever,” Arthur says loudly, and Merlin knows he’s won, even if some of his team members are snickering where they think he can’t see them. “What are the numbers telling you?”

“The magic changed when it hit you.” Merlin turns around in his swivel chair, pushing it back to where the keyboard is and jotting down some notes furiously on the notepad next to it. “As I suspected, the spell adapted to your human body and reversed your age to a point in your youth. You’re growing just like any other seventeen-year-old, physically.”

Arthur leers. “ _Oh._ Physically?”

“And developing a preoccupation with non-existent innuendo like any other seventeen-year-old, too,” Merlin says without missing a beat, ignoring it when Arthur sticks a tongue out at him. He finishes the last of his notes with a flourish, pulling some charts and diagrams from the information in front of him and attaching them to the notepad before passing it over to Freya. 

“I’ve identified some of the key areas we can look into. Examine them and send me an e-mail with progress and findings by this afternoon. And don’t say a word,” Merlin adds, holding out a finger in front of him when he sees the beginnings of a grin on her face. “Don’t even start.”

“Didn’t say anything, _sir_ ,” she says smoothly, taking the file and notes from him with a tilt of her head, her eyes dancing. “Now go take care of Mr. Pendragon, won’t you?”

Merlin sighs, turning around and vanishing the runes around Arthur’s wrists before ushering him out of the chair and towards the door. “Insubordinate staff,” he mutters under his breath, closing the door.

“You?” Arthur tosses his fringe back once the doors with **WARNING: MAGICAL ACTIVITY** swing shut behind them, looking every inch the posh brat he currently is in his artfully rumpled shirt and designer jeans. “Sounds about right.”

“I have been nothing but a stellar employee,” Merlin says, looking right ahead as they walk. They have to be extra careful around his lab, if only because of the heavy magic restrictions in place to prevent interference with any procedures on the floor. He can't use certain spells here, so they will just have to avoid attention the old-fashioned way. “Just ask my boss.”

Arthur laughs next to him. “Very confident with your performance review, are you?”

“Oh, yes. I have very positive feedback from all staff, but I find that it’s been a while since I received any substantial increments...”

“Really? You’ll have to bring it up with him some—” Arthur stops mid-sentence, and from the sound of it, in his tracks as well.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin turns around sharply, backing up against the wall in the narrow corridor to look at what’s gotten Arthur so pale.

He gets his answer once he registers the terrified, intimidated lull around them, seconds before he sees Uther Pendragon walking towards them, several directors behind him.

“Oh, shit,” Arthur says with feeling. 

That doesn’t even begin to cover it, Merlin thinks, as he begins to mentally run through the will he’s never thought he would have to write, a frozen smile on his face when Uther notices him — sharp disapproval in the way he looks Merlin up and down in his lab coat. 

“Mr. Pendragon.” Swallowing, Merlin stands up straight, keeping his hands behind him and hoping Arthur has enough sense to slip away while Uther’s distracted. He’s going to stay positive and hope he’s only getting glared at because he rumpled his coat, rather than Uther’s having caught a glimpse of Arthur and jumping to the very correct conclusion that Merlin is the cause of his newly teenaged son’s current predicament. “Good afternoon.”

“You’re the one from that magical department.” Uther raises an eyebrow. “Under Arthur’s supervision.”

The other people from top management are fanning out in the corridor from behind Uther, trying to see what the holdup is, and Merlin shrivels a little under the scrutiny. It doesn’t matter what people say; having so many businessmen in severe bespoke suits around you _will_ make you nervous. Especially when you’re a magical sciences specialist in what had firmly remained an anti-magic environment until not too long ago, no thanks to the man currently standing in front of you. “Right. Yes, that’s me. Sir.”

“What is your department doing that its head can just take a leisurely stroll during working hours like this?” Shaking his head, Uther huffs and slides his fingers on his phone screen, cursing a little under his breath – the magic on the floor must be mucking about with the signals. “Bloody useless.”

“As the head of Magical R&D, I oversee all projects Pendragon Pharmaceuticals is undertaking with a magical element to it at any given time,” Merlin says meekly. “This requires me to check on the progress in several labs during the better part of a day.” Turning sideways, he gestures to his left. “I find that the area near the lifts on the West wing offers better reception if you need to use your phone.”

Uther eyes him critically; Merlin holds his breath. “Well,” Uther says, with an air not unlike that of a teacher having examined the entirety of a student’s essay word-for-word and being disappointed that he was _unable_ to find it wanting, “I suppose you’re good for something, at least.”

There’s a quiet snort from behind Merlin. It doesn’t go unnoticed – Uther’s head snaps up and he frowns severely at Merlin. 

“It wasn’t,” Merlin starts hastily, flailing, his mental notes on throttling Arthur fading into panic when he can tell the exact moment Uther notices Arthur trying too late to escape.

Oblivious, Arthur ducks behind and around Merlin, tugging at Merlin’s sleeve and whispering urgently, “Let’s go!”

“You—” Uther begins, narrowing his eyes and squinting. Like he can’t quite place where he’s seen Arthur before. 

_Good,_ Merlin thinks hysterically, _very good, there’s hope for my job yet._

With what must be some kind of remarkably honed sense of adaptability or an impressive talent for improvised acting, Arthur plasters a half-smile on. It’s very convincing, what with the truly stricken deer-in-headlights look that Merlin’s sure is genuine. “Uh. ‘lo, Mr. —”

“Pendragon.” Turning to Merlin, Uther gives him a look. “This is a dangerous, high security area for employees only, boy.”

“Cor, sir, I’m aware a’that. It’s just—”

“Bring Your Family to Work Day!” Merlin interrupts, sure the own grin on his face must be bordering on manic as he pushes Arthur and his atrocious attempt at sounding like some kind of stray chav he’d just picked up off the streets further behind him. “Ar— Arnold here is a distant cousin. Visiting. Mother’s side, a sister-in-law’s kid. I was just showing him around.”

“You look nothing alike,” Uther observes accurately.

He lets his grin stretch wider, feels sweat beading on the back of his neck already. “Different colouring, gets it from his mam. We’re all dark-haired, us Emrys folk. Ain’t that right, Arnold, eh?”

“Yeah, guv,” Arthur says, without much heart in it. He doesn’t meet Uther’s eyes, his shoulders drawn tight but defiant under the scrutiny.

“Anyway, we were just leaving. Say goodbye to Mr. Pendragon now, there’s a good lad.”

“Goodbye, fa— Mr. Pendragon,” Arthur says, covering up his slip with a stiff nod. He couldn’t have been more Arthur-like in that moment if he tried, elegant upper-class curl sneaking back into his voice. “You’re a credit to your stellar organisation and no mistake.”

Uther looks at them both for another agonising few seconds. “Indeed... Arnold.” 

“Pleasure speaking with you!” Merlin says loudly after he pushes Arthur away in a quick, panicky set of strides engineered to cover as much distance between him and Uther’s speculative gaze boring guilty holes into his back.

°

When they’ve made their way out of the basement’s hidden backdoor and avoided an obscene number of cameras thanks to Merlin’s casual magic interference, Arthur jams his hands into his pockets, shoulders set in a sharp slump as he trails sullenly behind Merlin.

Bookish and an awkward if friendly only child without an extended family to speak of, Merlin finds himself at a loss. “Hey,” he ventures, slowing his step.

“What.” Arthur’s voice is flat as they cross the road, swept along by the crowd of pedestrians.

Clearing his throat, Merlin pulls his scarf a little higher around his neck. “All right?”

The buzz of the crowd around them masks the tense silence that ensues while they keep walking. “Grand. Why wouldn’t I be?” Arthur clenches his teeth, turning away. “I should be glad. My own father can’t even bloody recognise me, so it shouldn’t be a problem keeping this quiet until this entire thing tides over.”

That had been strange, even to Merlin. Far be it from him to comment on the inner workings of a dysfunctional but terrifyingly dynamic family like the Pendragons, but if his mother had been in the same situation, she would’ve recognised Merlin at any age, anywhere. It’s a little heartbreaking to imagine Arthur looking the way he is now not registering even an iota of awareness with Pendragon Sr. – a lot of things about Arthur are slowly beginning to make sense. “I’m... sorry.”

“What for?” Arthur says, looking up at the clouds, faint shadows of buildings falling across his face. “Can’t believe we were worried in the first place.”

“You and your father, um.” Merlin always says too much, but he can’t _not_ say something when he sees someone upset, especially when Arthur looks so angry and sad. This the most emotive he’s seen him; whenever Arthur comes out of boardroom arguments with Uther — like the memorable time he’d fought to keep Merlin’s department in the company and Merlin had been awed, moved and turned on all at the same time at how fiercely Arthur had defended him and his work — his fury stays ice-cold for a long while, visible only under the veneer of calm if you know where to look. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Arthur starts walking ahead of Merlin now, speeding up his steps. “There’s no point.”

“If you do, though,” Merlin begins, reaching out a hand to pull at Arthur’s arm. Arthur turns to look at him, but doesn’t shake him off. “I mean, we’re stuck together for a bit. And I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

They stand there in the middle of the street for a moment, getting some dirty looks from people shoving past them and bumping into their shoulders. When Arthur doesn’t say anything, looking lost, Merlin gentles his grip, dropping it to Arthur’s wrist. “It’s the ears, you see.”

That nudges a tentative smile from Arthur. “Bet they’re right useful.”

“Well,” he says, letting go of Arthur and ignoring the butterflies kicking up in his stomach when Arthur doesn’t avert his eyes. “Not for anything life-changing like spying on conspiracies to end the world or anything like that. But we all need that one friend you can waffle on about things to who’ll keep as silent as the grave, don’t we?”

“Silent? Are we still talking about you?”

“I _can_ be quiet!” Merlin says, walking. “And I can keep secrets.” Maybe not his own, but how he feels about Arthur has never been much of one.

“You do have that look that makes random strangers want to go up to you and tell you things, I guess. Trustworthy, open, guileless...”

“Oh. Um, thanks?”

“Careless, naïve, gullible...”

“I am none of those things!” Merlin sputters. “What is this, workplace bullying?”

“We’re out of the office and I look fifteen years your junior,” Arthur points out. “No one would believe you. Especially HR.”

“Whatever. And to think I actually wanted to buy you some ice-cream if you were having a bit of a downer.”

“I’m not actually seventeen,” comes the objection. “Or twelve, since that’s the age _kids_ like ice-cream.”

“Ice-cream is for everyone in the layers of society’s onion, Arthur,” Merlin says, gesturing to a conveniently placed ice-cream stand down the street. “I’m getting one for myself, anyway. What’ll it be?”

Arthur glares at him for a moment before grumbling, “Cookies and cream.”

“Well, aren’t you precious.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

The afternoon is notably more cheerful after that. Exhaustion settles over Merlin after, reminding him just what a stressful week it’s been with preparing the presentation for the Elixir du Avalon – and look how well t _hat_ turned out, he tells himself dryly – so he suggests he and Arthur get groceries later for a simple meal at home.

Arthur perks up at that when they’re approaching their local supermarket. “You cook? What can you cook? Are you any good?”

Unfolding his massive green canvas bag with its _Magic for the Environment!_ tagline and the cheesy image of a cartoon dragon giving a thumbs up amidst the background of crudely drawn trees, Merlin just stares at Arthur as the sliding doors open with a loud whoosh. “Of course I can cook. How else was I going to survive university, instant noodles and takeout all the time?”

“Right. So, you’ll be—” Arthur waggles his fingers, an expectant look on his face. “And bam, meat and vege?”

“What? Hardly!” The milk looks funny from an angle – Merlin puts it into the trolley anyway, crossing his arms over the handle as he pushes it forward. “There’s a reason we don’t have magic culinary specialists or anything like that. We can’t just magick finished food out of ingredients, just ease the cooking processes with spells. Conjured stuff always tastes weird, anyway. Hey, go make yourself useful and get me some courgettes over there.” 

“What? How do you cook, then?” Arthur peers into the specials bin and squints, coming back with an armful of vegetables that he deposits gracelessly into the trolley.

Merlin looks down. “These are cucumbers.”

“No, they’re not,” Arthur says proudly. “They’re dark green. Courgettes!”

“Oh, Arthur. Courgettes have a distinctive, strange-looking stem.” Reaching into another bin, Merlin holds out the innocent-looking vegetable, stem-side up. “Have you actually seen any vegetables on their own before eating them?”

Arthur still looks skeptical. “They’re identical.”

“They do look similar, but—” Raising his eyebrow, Merlin holds out his hand and flips the lopsided sign hanging from the bin that Arthur rummaged through, smirking as he observes the exact moment Arthur reads: _Our Very Special Cucumbers! So Special They're Astonishingly Affordable – Today Only!_

“Identical,” Arthur insists stubbornly later, even when he’s helping Merlin lug peas and pasta and more ice-cream —after Merlin had noticed Arthur hanging forlornly around the ice-cream section— onto the self-service checkout counter. 

Pocketing his change, Merlin laughs and heaves his bag over his shoulder, passing a large paper bag with the vegetables in to Arthur. “If you insist.”

“So, what’re you making?” Arthur asks abruptly, changing the subject with all the finesse of a sledgehammer.

“Courgette cream pasta.”

“Sounds fancy, chef.” 

“And ice-cream after, since you liked it so much,” Merlin adds, just to see Arthur flush. 

He does, very prettily, but Merlin’s not going to linger too much on that.

“I didn’t have much ice-cream as a child, all right,” Arthur mumbles, looking down as he comes to a stop in front of Merlin’s door, before turning to look at Merlin with that challenging look of his. It really is rather cute now that it’s from a young boy with tousled hair, rendering it completely ineffective with the way he’s pouting instead of the look that had meant certain death when Merlin was called in to Arthur’s office to find a slew of documents spread out in front of him and Arthur tapping his fingers against the table with a sharklike smile on his face. _So, Merlin, what do you have to say for yourself?_

Or, basically, the scene he’d superimposed onto every wank fantasy he’d had involving Arthur’s gigantic mahogany table ever. Because Arthur’s rare occasional lording of his rank over Merlin’s was just so bloody _predatory_ (and hot as fuck), it’s not like Merlin could’ve helped it even if he tried. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

“So!” Merlin says brightly, shaking his head to clear the image of Arthur’s sweaty palms gripping on the edge of said oversized table as Merlin nudges his legs open and sinks to his knees, mouth open and hungry. He _really_ needs to get a shag to get this out of his system. “Have you ever diced onions?” He adds, handing a vegetable knife to Arthur, hilt-first.

“Diced.” The way Arthur repeats the world slowly as he looks down almost cross-eyed at the tip of the black ceramic blade makes Merlin pry it gently out of his grasp again.

“You can watch me if you like. It’s easy,” he says, tying his nondescript and unassuming blue apron around his waist. “What?”

“An apron, Merlin.” Arthur raises an eyebrow by way of explanation.

“Well, excuse me if I don’t want to get awkward stains on my clothes. I’m just being practical. We have lab coats in our field for a reason, you know—”

“An _apron_.”

“There is no reasoning with you. Now, shoo and go stand over there if you’re not going to help me dice my onions.”

Arthur coughs, having the grace to look embarrassed now. “I’d offer, honest. I’ve just never really been...” He holds out his hands, gesturing around them. “We’ve always had a cook. Most I’ve done in a kitchen is pour myself some muesli and get some toast.”

“The sufferings of the upper class,” Merlin teases, starting to chop the onions while the pasta cooks. “Me mum’s wonderful in the kitchen, and she used to be a sous chef in her younger days. I picked up some tips, but don’t you go expecting any of your posh three Michelin star dishes or anything like that.”

“I don’t know, you’re the magic one between the two of us.” Leaning in closer, Arthur watches in fascination as Merlin sets the diced onions aside. “You did that really quickly.”

“And that, good sir, was just years of helping my mum prepare dinner for the both of us. Not very magical at all.”

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?”

“You’ll see.” Merlin winks at Arthur, liking it when Arthur grins back at him, excited. The kitchenette’s quickly filled with smell of buttery courgette being tossed about with onions, and Merlin nearly loses himself in the lazy, comforting fragrance of it until he feels Arthur tugging at one of his sleeves. “Hmm?”

“Could I try?”

“Stirring it?” Merlin hands him the wooden spatula. “Certainly, be my guest.”

“I _see_ ,” Arthur says solemnly, levering a look of full and unwavering concentration at the spatula as he turns it this way and that before taking a deep breath and stepping forward like he’s about to embark on a deadly mission like a visit to his father’s office. “Very well.”

“Don’t speak as if you’re going off to _war!_ You’re overreacting. Jesus.” Merlin moves behind him, steadying his grip on the spatula with his fingers slipping over Arthur’s knuckles. “Here. It’s really easy for things like this, you just stir the onions about – they’re softening, see – and wait until the slices colour and brown a little. I like them a bit smoky.”

“Do you, now?” He must be imagining things, but Arthur’s voice sounds a little huskier than usual. There’s a shift of limbs against him, and Merlin realises suddenly that Arthur’s turned where he’s standing to look back at Merlin, flyaway loose strands of hair tickling Merlin’s cheek and eyes that are fixed on him.

“Um. That is. Well, I— oh, look, pasta’s done. Hold on a minute,” he stammers hastily, pulling back but not before shakily upending the small container of cream into Arthur’s saucepan. “Just keep doing what you’re, um, yeah.”

Arthur continues stirring the courgette slices in a really methodical clockwise motion, stealing a glance at Merlin every now and then up until they’re spooning the thick cream and courgettes onto their plates.

“Now you can say you’ve cooked something!” Merlin says, sitting across from Arthur. His cheeks still feel a little warm. Damn it. How did this flirtatious little bugger even end up becoming Arthur the uptight adult all those years later?

“I rather think I did.” Arthur takes a generous forkful, chewing with relish. “How can something simple be so good?”

“I did put in a lot more butter this time around. Like it?”

“Fishing for compliments?” Arthur asks, spoon halfway to his smiling mouth.

Despite himself, he’s finding this Arthur really easy to be around. To talk to. “Maybe.”

Arthur snorts and doesn’t indulge him, but he helps himself to more of the pasta, saying without words how much he’s enjoying it.

“You know,” he says softly, “Morgana would’ve liked this. She’s—” A pause. “She was a pasta kind of girl.”

Merlin moves around the use of past tense as carefully as he knows how, which is to say he trips over himself verbally and says, “Have you kept in touch since?” before he can stop himself, clapping a hand to his mouth after as if he can undo the damage that way. “I mean, God, I didn’t mean—”

Shaking his head, Arthur just shoots him a wry look. “I see you’ve heard. Hardly surprising, word travels fast in the office.”

“Just bits and pieces.” Merlin rubs his neck, abashed. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? It was her decision to leave.” Arthur places his cutlery down, sighing. “The company. The family.”

“So earlier when you said your alternative was, um. When you said your sister was out of the country—”

“Yeah. I couldn’t have gone to her anyway. I just like to know what she’s up to.” He chuckles, a little bitterly. “The way she used to not be able to keep her nose out of my business.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Merlin volunteered to hear Arthur out earlier, but if it’s upsetting him to discuss this over dinner, he can wait a little longer.

“There’s... nothing much to talk about.” Arthur stands up and gets some water from the tap, leaning against the sink as he chugs it down, the movement of his throat dragging Merlin’s eyes away from everything else. “It was bad enough all those years ago when we found out Morgana wasn’t just a friend’s daughter entrusted to my father’s care – that she was really my half-sister — and things were already rocky between the three of us. And then my father found out about her magic.”

Merlin actually drops his fork. “She had—”

“And you know how my father viewed magic, didn’t you? It didn’t end well. And the rest is as what everyone must have told you.”

“They didn’t, actually. I never asked.” Merlin leans forward on the table, folding his arms while waving a hand. “It was your personal business. I didn’t want to pry, so I usually stopped the rest from telling me. Didn’t have any bearing on who you were as a person, see. My superior.”

Arthur’s been more generous with his smiles in the last few days than he has in the years Merlin’s worked for him, but it still knocks his breath out of him when he grins that toothy grin at Merlin, crooked tooth not yet fixed by the surgery he must’ve had in his twenties. “You’re pretty decent, aren’t you, Merlin?”

“‘course I am. I’ve had to deal with you for ages.”

Twisting his spoon, Arthur flicks some sauce at Merlin’s face. Yelping, Merlin grabs for the nearest napkin to wipe it off. “What—”

Arthur sticks out his tongue. “I take that back. You’re only halfway to bearable.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Merlin grumbles, settling back in front of his pasta. 

“Whatever.”

“You young punk,” Merlin says, affecting the very convincing accent of the elderly. “I should make you go without dessert.”

“Not actually seventeen, Merlin, and you’re not actually sixty.”

“Try me.”

* * *

“Mm, cookies and cream,” Arthur mumbles between mouthfuls, leaning back into the couch.

Rolling his eyes, Merlin pulls his laptop closer, resting them on his knees as he sits cross-legged, making it a point to nudge Arthur’s bare feet off his side of the cushions. “You were closer to the fridge, that’s all.”

“Still outraced you.” Smug, Arthur holds out the small carton. “Here, you can have some.”

“It’s fine, I know how much you want to finish the entire tub,” Merlin says, nudging him with an elbow and opening up his e-mails with another.

“I’m a growing boy,” Arthur replies by way of an excuse, sticking his spoon inside and scooting over to Merlin’s side. “So... An e-mail from Freya, hmm?”

Something in Arthur’s tone makes Merlin blink and turn to look suspiciously at him. “Yes...? You were there today, too.”

Arthur hums, raising his eyebrows and smirking. “I was.”

“And?” Merlin clears his throat, viewing the attachments with screenshots on how the spell had rewritten itself in the areas he’d suspected. The makeup of the runes and symbols in the deconstructed spell are arranged in a more complicated series of magical characters he’s ever seen, though.

“You sweet on her?” 

This time, Merlin nearly drops his laptop. He’s got to stop doing that. “What?”

“Don’t be shy, you can tell me all about it.” Pulling a leg up, Arthur rests the side of his cheek on his knee, giving Merlin an expectant look.

“You sound like the old lady around the corner.” Merlin laughs, turning back to his laptop. “It’s none of your beeswax.”

“So there is something?” Arthur persists, nudging at Merlin’s foot.

“What — no!” Typing a reply to Freya’s e-mail and moving the window around discreetly to prevent Arthur from seeing her cheeky postscript asking after what living with Arthur is like, Merlin swats at Arthur when he tries to look over his shoulder. “Fine. There isn’t anything because we’re better as friends, and more importantly, because Freya’s not a guy. Yeah?”

“How do you mean?” Merlin can almost hear the little wheels of Arthur’s mind clicking into place. “When you said — oh.”

“Yeah, so there’s... nothing.” Pushing back comfortably against the plushy back of the couch, Merlin rests an arm over the edge and smiles contemplatively, narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “Didn’t think you to be so invested in the romance rumour mill, boss.”

“Not really,” Arthur says, shrugging, still looking ahead of him where the television is instead of at Merlin. He pulls both of his knees up now, wrapping his arms around them. “I just thought...”

“It’s not a problem, is it?” Merlin asks, closing his laptop, wondering a little belatedly now if his coming out to his boss was too abrupt, because he’s never really believed in being too open with his sexuality in corporate environments, not with the more conservative ilk. Even if he’d _heard_ that Arthur is bisexual, there’s no confirming it unless he hears it from the man himself. And as with the news about Morgana, their personal lives should not have any bearing on their professionalism. “Um.” He waves a little helplessly with his other free arm not draped over the sofa, trying to convey an awkward _can we please forget I actually mentioned that?_ gesture without actually having to say it.

“No!” Arthur says sharply, hand whipping out fast to grip at Merlin’s wrist, his eyes wide. “No, it’s not. I just... I was just teasing you. You didn’t have to tell me. I’m sorry if you felt obligated, just because I’m your superior.”

“I didn’t feel like I had to tell you because of that.” The very idea is ludicrous. Anyone in a managerial or executive position regardless of rank would get a thorough lashing from Lancelot if they even attempted to pull such a thing. And his ‘I’m very disappointed in you’ guilt-tripping treatment, which Merlin firmly believes to be the most effective method of resolving any tension between employees in the company ever. “We’re more closely acquainted now outside of the office, and we were having a bit of fun. I’m comfortable with my sexuality, but I realise that it may be inappropriate to discuss this with my boss, so... we can leave it, if you’re not comfortable with it. Honest.”

“I’m fine with it.” Arthur’s grip tightens, something unreadable in his eyes. “Don’t worry. All right?”

Merlin lowers his hand, Arthur’s fingers brushing along the back of his knuckles as they pull away from each other. He clears his throat, feeling oddly touched that Arthur doesn’t mind. “Thank you.”

When Arthur turns away from Merlin to absently stir his spoon in his now melted tub of ice-cream, the back of his neck is pink. “Well. In return, you can ask me something. Since I pried.”

“Only one something?” Merlin says, leaning over to ruffle Arthur’s hair, smirking when Arthur makes a small growling sound. Like a little lion cub. He even has the colouring to match. “Can’t we do twenty questions, with me asking the questions?”

Scowling, Arthur holds out his ice-cream covered spoon as if he makes to wipe it on Merlin’s nose. “Don’t push it, mate.”

“Spoilsport. So, any pretty socialite hanging off your arm we don’t know about?”

“If there was one to speak of, I’d be more surprised than you.” Arthur huffs, crossing his legs in the loose gray sleeping trousers he’d bought. The material looks ridiculously soft, probably matching what was no doubt an equally ridiculous price tag. “No, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”

Merlin’s ears perk up. Anyone. How gender-neutral. “How’re the love lives of the rich and famous?” He says instead, gently steering the conversation towards somewhere much less confronting. “What kind of lavish places do your lot romance your high-class partners in, so far removed from the rest of us common folks?”

“Too many questions!” Arthur shoves a palm at Merlin’s face, but answers him anyway. “It’s not like I live in stardom or bathe in champagne, you twat. Nice restaurants for the first dates and stuff, same as anyone. Doesn’t hurt to order a good bottle of wine or two, though.”

“One of those _vintage_ things that cost my entire year’s salary?”

“Please, Merlin, you’re not exactly cheap. I’m the one with full access to the payroll.”

All right, he can grant him that. “So?” It’s his turn to nudge Arthur, and he has to mask his bubbling excitement at confirming that Arthur is single under a mask of annoying curiosity. “How’s dating been for you?”

“A few women. In uni, a while after I started working... nothing that really lasted.” Arthur runs his hand through his hair, messing it up before hooking his arms behind his head. “I even went out with Gwen once, thought there was something there. Thought we could even get married somewhere down the road, but it didn’t work out. Some kind of disconnect, you know?”

“Yeah.” Merlin understands that all too well. The scattered, lost photos around his apartment of his forgotten and failed relationships could form a neat little pile where he could perch a sign that reads _Bad Decisions_ on it. “Sorry to hear that.”

“And then I.” Slow shudder of an exhale, and then Arthur shifts in his seat and looks directly at Merlin. “I got drunk, once. Out on a pub crawl with my mates. Don’t know where we were at the time, but it was a gay bar.”

Merlin blinks, trying to rewind his mental recollection of the last sentence. “A gay bar?” He says, stupidly. But that would mean— 

“I’m attracted to women,” Arthur states, not defensively. Merlin likes that. “But I was drunk, Leon and a couple of others had gone out for a fag, and I was just leaning against a wall after I went to the gents’.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so... this. This bloke came over, had a nice smile to him, green eyes. I remember thinking _he_ was good-looking, and maybe I told him that to his face, ‘cause he laughed. He said I wasn’t half-bad, either, and before I could reply, he was snogging me.”

Merlin cringes inwardly, raising a palm to his face. He’s never sure whether to be envious of blokes like that for their smooth moves when pulling — people like _Arthur,_ no less! — or annoyed at how presumptuous some of them are for just going in for the kill like that. “I would like to apologise for all gay blokes everywhere, ‘cause not all of us just snog without asking.”

“Nah, don’t.” Arthur’s laughing now, cheeks a little pink from the recollection. What wouldn’t Merlin do to have been in that lucky guy’s place in that bar? “It was a pretty good kiss. He wasn’t all that sober either, stumbled his way out of the bar later, but I remembered liking it. Kissing a man.”

“Bit of a sexuality epiphany for you?” Merlin says, relieved that this is all out in the open and that Arthur, too, feels like he can share this with Merlin. 

“Rather.” Arthur pauses. “I can laugh about it now, but after that night — I was horrified that I did enjoy it. Worse, that I couldn’t deny I enjoyed it, no matter how much I tried. I dated more women after that, trying to forget about it. Didn’t work.”

Clucking softly, Merlin pats Arthur’s knee. “It’s never easy. Don’t ever feel like you have to blame yourself for this.”

“I know that now.” 

“You’ve...” He can’t help himself; he strokes the bump of Arthur’s knee, just through the soft, thin fabric. “Come to terms with it?”

Merlin thinks he hears a soft intake of breath, but Arthur makes no move to push his fingers away. He keeps his touch firm, comforting, drawing circles there instead of straying upwards, no matter how tempting it is. “Yeah,” Arthur says. “Just... it took many years. It was rough for a while, not having anyone to talk to about it. But it got better. I didn’t give my friends enough credit – they’re fine with me the way I am. Accepting, supportive. Just everything I could ask for, but never dared to imagine I could have. So was... so was Morgana. Even though I could never tell my father about this, ever.”

“That’s good,” Merlin says quietly. “It’s no way to live. It always gets better, Arthur. Always.”

There’s the soft warmth of skin brushing against the side of his hand, and Merlin looks down to see Arthur’s hand bumping against his and staying there. 

Arthur’s tired smile takes on the years of his actual age now, the burden of the Pendragon family’s conflicts and the anguish of his past showing in the downward slope of his shoulders. Merlin’s heart breaks for him then, now that all the puzzle pieces are slotting into place and painting the picture of the real Arthur, lonely and withdrawn but still giving it everything he’s got. 

If Merlin’s already half in love with him, there’s no doubt as to how much of a complete goner he is now.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, sliding his hand over Merlin’s for a moment, lingering there before pulling it away. “It does.”

* * *

Failing to fight off a yawn as he blinks awake, Merlin covers his mouth with a hand and swings his legs over the edge of his bed, one lone foot connecting with the frame with a solid thwack.

Cursing illegibly to himself, Merlin flicks his desk lamp on with his magic and hops on one leg towards his desk. “Can’t even get out of my room unscathed,” he mutters darkly, reaching for his jug that’s always next to his mug of pens to pour himself some water only to find it empty.

He squints at the glow-in-the-dark clock next to his bed, trying to make out the hands. Doesn’t matter what it actually shows, it’s definitely fuck o’ clock. Maybe he heard a noise or something, but Merlin only remembers stirring from dreamlessness, a comfortable place he’d been lulled into after he’d fallen asleep quite contentedly to Arthur’s smile playing over his consciousness.

Merlin smiles at that. There’re worse things to fall asleep to. Hell, if his friends or coworkers could see him now – they’d never let him hear the end of it.

His foot feels a little tender thanks to his clumsiness, so Merlin hobbles over to the door and waves a hand over the knob, sealing it in a silence spell. He sighs in relief when the usual creaky cacophony of the hinges that accompanies the grand opening of the door doesn’t ensue and steps out gingerly onto the long rug that stretches down the corridor, all the way into the living space and kitchenette.

For good measure, Merlin casts the spell on his feet as well. He likes his knobby-toed feet just fine, but he can see the bigger picture and admit he can accidentally tap into his hidden ability to trip over thin air at the worst times. He’s let Arthur kip on the couch for the night, too, and the last thing he wants is to startle his teenaged boss awake in the middle of the night into a grumpy fit. 

Tiptoeing along the side of the rug furthest away from the couch, Merlin summons the smallest of blue witch-lights on the tip of his finger. He can navigate his flat by touch, but he and Murphy’s Law are too well-acquainted for him to try and take that chance. He’s tried it before one night, only to kick at a soft body in the living room – Merlin had yelled and levitated several of his knives in his alarm before he switched on the light and his then-boyfriend had woken up blearily, saying, “Huh. Must’ve been sleepwalking again.”

From where he’s standing, Merlin can just make out the sheen of blond just glinting off Arthur’s mess of hair on the couch with Merlin’s large, favourite quilt draping off him and pooling a little on the floor. Some of the patches are coming off at the seams, the needlework a little frayed in parts, the patterns somewhat faded – but Merlin wouldn’t trade his quilt for the finest silks in the city. His mum made it when he was wee; the quilt’s been a fortress, a superhero cape, a reminder of everything he misses about Ealdor and the sacrifices they’ve both made for Merlin to come this far. He can’t wait to go back and visit.

He’s inching towards the kitchenette when Arthur snuffles, shifting on the sofa. _Such a teenager,_ Merlin thinks fondly, taking his other jug of water from the counter carefully, with both hands.

It isn’t until he’s already walking away that Merlin hears it; a muffled moan, so soft and choked that he thinks he must have imagined it, is ready to dismiss it. Until he hears the hitch of breath that follows, the rustle of fabric, and just like that, Merlin _knows_.

Even with his death grip on the jug, even with his feet rooted firmly in place there as his body suddenly seizes up, refusing to move from the spot, and even though he really shouldn’t – Merlin turns around slowly, so slowly, sees the shadows hidden in the half-lights trickling from behind the curtains outside, the unmistakable movement on the couch just as Arthur pushes his head back, a quiet gasp falling from his lips.

Oh, God. Merlin extinguishes the small witch-light in a panic, pulling himself under into complete darkness. It doesn’t seem as though Arthur’s noticed him, with the back of the couch facing Merlin at an angle.

After another agonising minute of silence but not really, Merlin starts to pick up on other softer, muted sounds, his night-eyes kicking in as the outline of the figure on the couch arches his back, one hand reaching over his head to drag his nails down the armrest as his breath starts coming in stuttering pants. 

The quilt falls away from Arthur’s bare shoulders — of _course_ he’d be the type to sleep with as little clothing as possible, Merlin thinks hysterically– exposing the taut line of his neck and jaw now that Merlin can see him, his eyes screwed tightly shut. And now, fuck, now that he knows what to listen for, he can hear the urgent, slippery sounds of wet, slick skin fitting between Arthur’s breaths and bitten-off groans.

Merlin wonders if his brain can actually short-circuit from sheer lust.

He’s always liked fucking in the dark every now and then, himself. There’s something alluring about it, that limitation Merlin imposes on himself, trading his vision for a stolen hour or two for a heightened appreciation of responsive lovers and touch, learning the contours and secrets of another’s body with lips and tongue and wandering hands.

It’s a terrifying parallel to the reality of his present, playing the unexpected and increasingly willing voyeur to the unraveling he’s seeing and hearing before him, fists clenching with the need to touch. To feel. Arthur’s moans are all the louder for the darkness that engulfs them, every rustle of the quilt that must be tangled around Arthur’s legs a beckoning, crooked finger.

Merlin bites down on his lip when he hears Arthur come with a ragged, breathless cry, muffling it suddenly by biting down on the back of his hand for what feels like ages as he rides it out, erratic rhythm of the filthy sounds evening out when the back of Arthur’s head hits the sofa with a long, shaken sigh of relief.

He’s so hard, fuck, he’s tenting his boxers after watching Arthur _wank_ , it’s obscene. Merlin has always thought of himself as an incorrigible perv, but this just takes the cake. Stepping back, he stumbles, turning to walk quickly back to his room. He’s never been more grateful for the silencing spell, but now he needs to— needs—

Closing the door, Merlin doesn’t even make it to the bed. His head hits the door with a soft thunk as he takes himself in hand, wanks himself raw with gritted teeth and trembling fingers to the memory of Arthur’s parted lips and fingers scrabbling for purchase over his head, almost as if someone had been fucking into him, legs tangled in Merlin’s quilt, _Christ,_ on Merlin’s couch, moaning like he meant it, wanted it.

The temporary guilt and shame of having —unintentionally!— spied on Arthur is firmly shoved into the background as Merlin comes in less than eight shaky strokes, knees giving as he has to clutch at the doorknob for support in his daze.

Brilliant orgasm or not, he’s going to have a hell of a time looking at Arthur in the eye tomorrow. Or the day after that. Possibly forever, even after they’ve gotten the cure.

Bugger.

* * *

“Merlin.”

At the sound of his name, Merlin burrows deeper under his covers, nosing at his pillow. He’s not going to bloody get up early, not after he finally nodded off at a little past four in the morning still restless and horny as all hell. Of course, he communicates all of this in a single telling grunt, hoping Arthur will get the idea to shove off and leave him to his sleep-deprived peace.

“You lazy sod, it’s half past nine.” His bed frame lets out a worn creak of protest when the mattress shakes and dips noticeably next to him. Arthur’s insistent hand on his shoulder would be welcome in any other situation, but Merlin’s all bleary-eyed and annoyed at Arthur still for indirectly keeping him up. Bloody Arthur, who even has putting on an accidental wanking show down to some kind of _art form._ “Meeeeerlin,” Arthur says, dragging out the sound of his name, voice dropping as he shakes Merlin gently, undeterred even when Merlin continues to shake him off and curl away from him. “I can’t believe – oh, _fine._ ”

When the pressure’s lifted from his arm, Merlin pulls his covers over his head, thinking that’s the last of it, only to have his breath knocked out of him when a weight lands solidly on his stomach and Arthur yanks his covers off him.

“Arthur, what,” Merlin begins, shoving as much indignation as he can into his voice still so thick and clumsy with sleep, but then Arthur’s fucking _climbing_ on top of him and, uh, the lower half of his body is waking up with considerable interest. 

“Oy,” Arthur says, brows furrowed, knee digging into the space between Merlin’s legs over the covers as he supports himself on a steady palm. He’s got his sleep shirt on, half-unbuttoned, and Merlin has to turn his eyes away from the rather excellent view he has of Arthur’s still-toned chest and stomach with some regret. “I know we’re not going to work today, but are you going to make like a layabout all day? Do you even get anything done by sleeping in so late?”

“It’s no business of my boss what I do on my off days,” Merlin says, flustered, tugging back at the covers. Arthur maintains his steady hold, amused eyebrows raised so high on his brow they’re in danger of disappearing into his hair. “I’m tired. Let me sleep in for a little more. I can’t keep up with your youthful energy and all that, _Mr._ Pendragon.”

“Over nine hours is plenty enough sleep for an adult your age,” Arthur says primly, and Merlin resists commenting on how he only got half that thanks to Arthur, thank you very much. At least his morning wood’s gone away some. “And you’re not _technically_ off, I haven’t approved any leave applications.”

Scowling, Merlin wiggles about and manages to get out from under Arthur, who rolls off him and lies back on the other pillow. “Fine. Fine! If you need things to be so official.” He trudges over to his desk and pulls out a folder with his spare documents from the office, rummaging about for the familiar form in triplicate and filling it in with a messy scrawl before shoving it at Arthur with his fountain pen. “Here.”

Arthur takes it, moving so he’s sitting cross-legged on Merlin’s sheets. He’s still in his sleeping pants he must’ve been in last night when... well. Damn it. And Merlin had been doing so well, too. “Sassing your boss so early in the morning? I’ll make a note of it, Mr. Emrys.”

“I didn’t get much sleep yesterday night, all right,” Merlin snaps, massaging his forehead as he reaches out for the form, eyes widening behind his palm as his brain catches up with his words.

Arthur’s hand stills on the thin sheaf of paper.

“Weird dreams,” Merlin improvises hastily, shaking his head and rolling his eyes for dramatic effect. “I dreamt that Carla had mutated to a monstrous size—” He holds out his two arms like a fisherman exaggerating the size of a trout he’d caught, “—and she just kept getting bigger and bigger. She broke out of our lab, started squashing cars on the street and smacking helicopters out of the air with her tail while she squeaked excitedly. Just.”

He pretends to not hear Arthur’s discreet sigh of relief and files the form away with the other documents. “Been watching too many movies, have you?” Arthur says eventually, lips twitching, brows easing out.

“Between big projects for work, I do occasionally get free time I like to spend watching monsters demolish civilisations. Why do you ask?”

Now it’s Arthur’s turn to roll his eyes. “And you complain about getting weird dreams.”

“Not my fault they kept me up.” Stretching his arms, Merlin sits back down on the bed next to him. “How are you even a morning person, anyway? You’re a teenager!”

Arthur wiggles back on the bed, hands behind him, a smug smile on his face. “It’s discipline. Still got it, no matter how old or young I become.” He pulls his shirt up over his stomach, raising an eyebrow. “Look, still fit.”

Merlin tries not to think about the _other_ meaning behind shirt-lifting, and swallows. “More like you’ve still got some puppy fat,” he says instead, trying not to look like he’s ogling the smattering of hair along Arthur’s happy trail just above the waistband of his shorts and how they’re a little darker than the gold of Arthur’s hair. 

All right, fine, he’s ogling. Very transparently. But who can blame him?

Arthur lets out an outraged hiss. “You take that back.”

“Why?” Oh, this is fun. “Chubby cheeks are a good look on you—”

He’s tackled and wrestled to the bed, the pillows and bolster flying when he finds himself suddenly looking at the ceiling with his breath knocked out of him. Flushed, Arthur has his arms down on either side of his body, heavy weight straddling Merlin’s stomach as he grins, eyes glinting through the tousled hair in his face. “This,” Arthur says, grinning triumphantly as he tightens his grip around Merlin’s wrists, “is a good look on you.”

Maybe it’s because he’s an only child, but Merlin’s always had a bit of a mean competitive streak. “I beg to differ,” he says, before flipping them both over with magic so Arthur’s the one under him now and Merlin’s pressing Arthur down into the sheets, not even needing his hands to secure Arthur’s wrists. His magic does that for him, invisible manacles that materialise and heed his every command, locking Arthur into place easily there as Merlin settles himself easily between Arthur’s legs, smirking down at Arthur. “You wear this look _much_ better.”

Struggling, Arthur tries to move out from under Merlin, huffing with the effort as he pushes and pulls against the magic. “That’s cheating!”

“Hardly,” Merlin says, waving so the invisible magic bonds pull Arthur’s arms up higher on the bed. “Now, I wonder if you’re ticklish...”

Arthur’s eyes go wide. “You wouldn’t—” But then he’s lost in a series of helpless laughter when Merlin scrabbles his fingers lightly along Arthur’s sides, grinning and sitting back while Arthur bucks up against him and wheezes between choked chuckles, “Oh, God — ah! — you absolute prick, fuck, stop _, oh—_ ”

What Arthur sounded like last night comes rushing back in glorious high-definition surround sound in the theatre of Merlin’s imagination, and he registers too late how Arthur looks like below him, writhing, sweat trickling down the side of his cheeks as he looks up at Merlin through glazed, distracted eyes, gasping out, "Please."

He rolls abruptly off Arthur as if burned, undoing the magic as he does so Arthur’s left trying to catch his breath and clutching at his sides, laughter dissipating in the room until all there’s left is a strange, awkward silence.

Arthur’s the one who breaks it, coughing stiltedly with a fist to his mouth and his back to Merlin. “Uh. I need to reply some e-mails, could I borrow your laptop? Left mine in the office.”

“Right. Yeah, I have a spare,” Merlin says quickly, face flaming when he goes to his shelf and extracts his smaller, personal computer. “Just let me get that set up for you. Make yourself comfortable outside.”

“Cheers.” Arthur shuffles out of the room, taking the strange crackling tension with him.

The little blue computer’s deposited neatly into Arthur’s expectant hands later, and Merlin plods over to the fridge for milk. “Would you like some cereal?”

“Any muesli?” Smooth tapping sounds fill the living room; Arthur sounds like he’s typing with the speed of a personal assistant on steroids. 

Making a face, Merlin pours the milk into his bowl of cornflakes. “And a health nut, to boot.”

“Oy, just because I like grains that don’t taste like I’m having a cup of sugar with my breakfast...”

“I bet you think having cornflakes is awfully plebeian.” Pulling himself up on the tall stool behind his counter, Merlin digs into his mountain of cinnamon-covered cornflakes.They make a satisfying crunch in his mouth, sugar overdose and all. “Mmm, sugar.”

“Sure, if you like that sort of thing. I’m not judging,” Arthur says with a judging glance Merlin’s way before he turns back to the computer. “Granola? Anything that’s not cornflakes?”

“As a matter of fact, you’re in luck.” He gets Arthur some granola, leaving it on the table in front of him with some milk.

“I give my thanks to the pantry gods. Your desktop is ridiculous. How do you even find anything in this mess?”

“It’s a personal computer,” Merlin objects. “And it’s several years old. My work one’s fine.”

“Says you.” Arthur shifts so he’s more comfortable on the sofa, leaning back. “How do you even use this browser? Shit, I accidentally opened some bookmarks—”

“Boss,” Merlin says slowly through his mouthful of cereal, “Are you even in touch with the times?”

“Don’t give me that cheek. _Why_ were they next to the refresh button—” His voice trails off.

Arthur’s speechlessness lasts long enough that Merlin looks up from his bowl of cereal while stirring his cornflakes into a soggy pile. His mother’s lectures on not playing with his food had never really worked. “Hmm?”

The small kitchenette’s near enough to the sofa that Merlin can see what’s on the laptop screen from where he’s seated if he just cranes his neck, just a little bit to the right — there.

Merlin drops his spoon when he sees what Arthur’s opened.

“Nice collection of...” Arthur’s expression is completely unreadable even as he pauses, probably to find a careful term for all the very fit, very blond and very much naked blokes he has on all of his tabs. “Tasteful nudity,” he says at last.

There’s never a hole to swallow him when he needs it. “Uh,” Merlin says eloquently, picking up his spoon again and holding it up like a finger. “I can explain?” He nearly smacks himself for that, because it’s not like Arthur’s caught him _in flagrante_ with one of those fit, blond, naked blokes. 

Everyone needs wank material, Merlin thinks hysterically. Men, women, anyone with a healthy libido! Surely Arthur would understand.

“What’s there to explain?” Comes the thoughtful, composed reply. Merlin curls his toes out of sheer nerves as Arthur closes each tab, slowly and deliberately, tilting his head every now and then at a couple of them. “Wow, who knew the human body could be _that_ flexible?”

“Please just reply your e-mails,” Merlin mumbles, mortified.

Arthur does, chuckling softly. It’s still quiet but for the noise of the city spilling through the open balcony and the light taps of Arthur’s fingers against the keyboard while Merlin rinses his bowl in the sink.

“You sure like them blond, huh.”

Merlin coughs. Well, in for a penny... “What if I do?”

More thoughtful silence.

“Well,” Arthur says, drawing the word out, sounding almost sly. “It makes a man wonder what else you might like.”

Merlin just sputters, hands gesturing incoherently for a few seconds as Arthur gives him that infuriatingly smug look of his — only it’s got an edge of something else now, something calculating, and... whatever, it’s too early to deal with his attractive, appealing git of a boss who looks way too good in sleep wear to be legal. 

Hell, he’s barely legal in that body, really. In more ways than one. Merlin feels like such a cradle-robber for even _thinking_ about it. “I’m going to get the mail,” he says as he latches onto his escape route, putting on some slippers quickly and closing the door behind him.

Arthur’s loud, delighted laughter follows him all the way down the stairs.

* * *

“Should I e-mail Morgana?”

The question comes out of nowhere. Merlin’s still slicing envelopes open with his silver letter-opener, a graduation present from his mum, having ignored Arthur’s curious, contemplative smiles in the last hour or so. “You’ve been thinking about it?”

Arthur takes the laptop over to the counter and places it on top, folding his arms and leaning forward, facing Merlin. “Yeah. Since we talked.”

“I think you’ve already made up your mind,” Merlin says, pulling out his telephone bills and pushing them aside, using one of his mugs as a paperweight. “You just want me to tell you that you should.”

“You can be oddly observant at times, Merlin.” Resting his cheek on one hand, Arthur looks at him intently, eyes a little sad. “I think I will, but I’m afraid.”

“What of?”

Sighing, Arthur toys with the small potted plant on Merlin’s counter, flicking at the purple-edged leaves. “I don’t know. That she ignores it. That she _doesn’t_ ignore it. We’re not... used to feelings, the three of us.”

Merlin places a hand on Arthur’s wrist where he’s fidgeting with the plant, gently tugging it down to the table. Arthur flexes his fingers, almost making to pull away, but he doesn’t in the end. “You miss her.”

Arthur’s quiet, looking down at his hands. “Well.”

“Reaching out to her will be good for both you and her,” Merlin says. “There’s really no harm trying.”

There’s a bit of a breeze blowing in, and the dandelion-white drapes rustle dreamily in that moment when Arthur nods, expression hardening with resolve. “I guess I will. I’ll have to think about what to write first, though.”

He looks so wistful and forlorn that Merlin takes his hand without really thinking about it. When he notices, he pulls back, fidgeting with his own fingers. Arthur’s eyes flick briefly down to where their hands had been joined before, and Merlin tries not to read too much into it. “It’ll be all right,” he says. Morgana’s not unreasonable, not from what he’s heard from Gwen, Lance and anyone else high enough on the corporate ladder who’d known her for who she was before she left the company. Fierce, beautiful, brilliant and stubborn to a fault — must be a Pendragon thing, he surmises — but not unreasonable.

Arthur gives him a small smile. “You think so?”

“Yeah. You’ve always had a way with words.” Arthur can command a floor with a sentence, never having to raise his voice; people don’t just defer to him, they _listen_ to him, because he listens to them, too. He knows how to appeal, to persuade, to agree, and shockingly — even how to compromise. So when Merlin says that, he means it. “Go turn on that Pendragon charm.”

“That sounds really wrong when you know she’s my half-sister.”

“You know what I mean.” He finishes slaying the last of his envelopes, and tucks them into a haphazard little pile. Things that can be left ‘til later; Arthur’s shoulders are starting to droop, and his being sad and looking younger than usual is _really_ tugging at Merlin’s heartstrings. “Cheer up, buttercup. Let’s go to a café, have some pastries. It’s on me.”

Arthur looks at him contemplatively again, something soft in his expression before he schools it into a teasing one. “You know a way to a man’s heart, don’t you, Merlin?”

That single sentence makes Merlin stumble over his thoughts. “You’re incorrigible.” He’s saying that a lot, lately, with increasing frequency.

“I’m starting to think you _like_ me incorrigible.”

“Oh, for— go get dressed,” Merlin says, flushing, getting up to grab his coat. “Go on.”

“Hold up, mate, I’ve got to look the part of the attractive boy-toy!” Arthur calls from the toilet.

Merlin buries his face in his hands, feeling a hysterical grin spreading on his face.

It’s going to be a long week.

* * *

“Oh!” Arthur says, when Merlin opens the door to Lucinda’s, a café he’s been frequenting over the last month. The little bird wind chime tinkles when he shuts it; the warm orange walls are welcoming, as always, the comforting smell of pies and herbs gently wafting over. “I’ve been here before. This place has been around for years. Walls are new, though.”

“Really?” They amble over to the counter, where the nice pastries are looking all plump and crispy and appetising in the pie-warmer. Merlin taps his finger on the glass. “They do a great ploughman’s. I rather like their danishes, too.”

“I remember their ploughman’s.” Smiling, Arthur tucks his hands into his pockets, looking around, taking in the handwritten chalkboard menus hanging off the walls, the small plants in mason jars on the wooden shelves everywhere. “My father used to take us here many years ago. Morgana and I, that is.”

“Did ickle Arthur like his milkshakes?” Merlin fishes for his wallet, handing over a couple of tenners to the very friendly lady at the counter who smiles brightly at him and places their piping hot pastries on their tray. “Chocolate with whipped cream on top?”

“Very funny,” Arthur says dryly, before taking a deep whiff. “I didn’t know it was possible for places to even _smell_ the same after so many years, but it does. The coffee, the pies... It’s nice.”

“It’s really weird, you being maudlin while in the body of a teenager.” Craning his neck, Merlin spots two free seats near the window and moves over there, unzipping his jacket.

Arthur sniffs. “You have no sense of sentimentality.”

Once Merlin digs into his danish with relish, he looks up with his mouth full to find Uther Pendragon just two tables over, a musing expression on his face as he sips tea from a dainty-looking cup.

“Isn’t that—?”

Arthur blinks, turning around with an arm on the top of his chair. In that same moment, Uther notices them, looking equally surprised and straightening in his chair. He seems different like this, Merlin notices. Less guarded, with a relaxed curve to his shoulders; even the lines on his face have eased. The realisation hits him: that’s where Arthur gets it from. They’re more alike than they think.

“Mr. Emrys,” Uther says, inclining his head for Arthur and Merlin to join him. He sets his glassware on the table with a _clink_. Merlin can’t help it — he eyes the delicate little pink flowers painted carefully around the small pot teeming with what smells like Earl Grey and briefly entertains himself with the thought of Uther liking fine flowery china patterns and embroidery.

Merlin gets up and nods briefly before sitting down again. “Mr. Pendragon.”

“Mr. Pendragon,” Arthur echoes, sitting straight-backed against his chair. He’s tense again.

“Ar... nold,” Uther acknowledges, and if Arthur’s surprised that he remembers, he doesn’t show it. Merlin doesn’t think he’s ever seen Uther Pendragon with his coat off before, or even with his sleeves rolled up. It’s kind of bizarre. “I see Mr. Emrys is still showing you around.”

Arthur nods stiffly. “He is, sir.”

“How are you liking this side of the city, then?”

“It’s very busy. Business district and all. Sir.”

“And how’s school for you, young man?”

Merlin can hardly believe it, looking between the two of them. He’s never heard words from Uther Pendragon’s mouth that didn’t involve huge top-heavy projects or choice insults towards magic users, so the awkward small talk is really throwing him off-kilter.

“I think I’m doing all right,” Arthur says carefully, affecting that terrible fake accent again. Merlin wants to kick him under the table. “Pretty good grades, I guess.” And then, unexpectedly, he adds, “My folks are never happy with me, though. No matter how well I do.”

The effort to keep his strained smile on is actually starting to feel physically painful. “Oh, Arnold,” Merlin says, to break the pause, looking at Uther from the corner of his eye. “You know they care.”

“If they do,” Arthur says, lifting his head up to look at Uther directly, something obstinate and defiant in his expression. “They have a funny way of showing it.”

Uther looks thoughtful — and still intimidating as all hell, at least to Merlin — his face a blank canvas. “As a parent myself,” he says, meeting Arthur’s gaze. “Well. We feel pride in our children’s accomplishments. Even if we don’t say it outright.”

The way Arthur starts next to him, it’s almost like he wasn’t expecting Uther’s answer. “You should, though.” Arthur pushes his fork into his pie, munching on a lone pickle aggressively. Merlin pats his knee under the table for support. “I— they won’t know what you think, otherwise. It’s a heavy thing, to think that no matter what you do... you’ll never get their approval. That they’ve always been disappointed in you.”

The general air of cheerfulness in the café seems to end around their table. A gray cloud might as well have materialised over them, with how the tension’s brewing. Yeah, he’s having no part of this. Merlin gives up, leans back, and takes a bite out of his danish, crumbs getting on his jeans.

“You remind me of my son,” Uther says finally, drinking more tea. “He’s always tried so hard to prove himself. He shouldn’t have.” A pause. “The only person you should have to prove anything to is yourself.”

Arthur pokes at the crust on his pastry. “Maybe you should tell that to your son.”

The sad expression on Uther’s is an exact mirror of Arthur’s just the day before; they eyebrows even knit the same way, their mouths drawing into the same thin line. “My son and I — we’ve grown more distant over the years, and I don’t know how to talk to him. To both my children. Not anymore.”

“It’s never too late,” Merlin interrupts, blushing when they both look at him in tandem. They’re more curious than irritated, so he ploughs on. “I mean. It takes time, but you just have to take that first step.”

Both Arthur and Uther’s grip on fork and teacup relax at the same time. Merlin would’ve chuckled, but the intense gazes of not one but _two_ Pendragons will rob one of any desire to do so.

“Yes.” Arthur smooths out a palm over the red-and-white checkered tablecloth, frowning. “I think your son would appreciate it.”

Uther takes another sip of tea, looking at Arthur closely before murmuring, “I hope he will.”

With the tension alleviated, Merlin relaxes into the comfortable silence until Uther gets up, nodding at the both of them without a word, donning his coat and intimidating persona again before walking out of the café.

As the sweet chimes fade, Arthur lets out a breath, taking another bite of his pie. “I... that was weird.”

“But not in a bad way?”

Arthur looks up at him, bewildered, but somehow cheered. “Not in a bad way.”

“Good. Now finish your pie, it’s probably gone cold.”

Narrowing his eyes at Merlin, Arthur deliberately chews slower, mumbling with his mouth full, “Stop coddling me.”

Rolling his eyes while drinking his coffee, Merlin moves to kick Arthur lightly under the table. “Says the one talking with his mouth full. Do I have to lecture you on your P’s and Q’s next?”

“Git,” Arthur laughs, covering his mouth, sinking a little further down in his chair to kick back at Merlin. When he’s recomposed himself and they’re just looking out the white-framed window with all the buskers and people passing by, oblivious to everything around them, he says quietly without looking at Merlin, “Thank you.”

Smiling, Merlin doesn’t look at Arthur either, even when Arthur’s hand brushes his on the table. He doesn’t move his hand away. 

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

They while away the days.

Tonight, Arthur’s cross-legged on the couch watching footie and Merlin’s reading, looking up counter-curses and spells related to aging and youth to see if he can further Freya and Gwaine’s research towards finding the cure.

He’s... gotten used to having Arthur here, after just a couple of weeks. It wasn’t going to last, obviously, because while the accident was a spectacular fuck up on Magical R&D’s part, they’ll definitely reverse it once they figure out the spell structure and how to magically untangle what they’ve done. Sneaking a look at Arthur from behind his glasses, Merlin turns another page, wondering just how watching Arthur being fixated on the telly and hanging on the edge of his seat when the goalie jumps — and misses! — makes him feel all warm inside as Arthur slaps a palm to his forehead, cursing, “Bugger it — so close!”

Time’s passing too quickly. But it’s not like Merlin had expected anything to come of this short stay with him, anyway; he’d really only wanted to offer Arthur a place to crash while they worked things out, even if his massive crush on Arthur had all but given him the courage to make the suggestion in the first place. 

And now he’s gone and developed stronger feelings for Arthur. The tiny sliver of hope that flares in him whenever Arthur _looks_ at him now doesn’t help either, a too-long look that says so much with an expression that disorientates him, deeper beyond his years – until Merlin has to look away, flushing, because he’s a bit of a coward and he’s always been shite at staring competitions with cats.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Hmm?” Lowering his book, Merlin blinks. The match’s ended, and there’s some late-night drama rerun on that he doesn’t recognise. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully at that. “I don’t, do I? Not even after all this time.”

“It’s fine, Arthur.” He turns another page, dog-earing it for the interesting rune he finds there. “Someone in your position – you’ve got to maintain that barrier with your department heads, those who work with you. It’s not like you could’ve just moseyed up to us and ask us out for a pint.”

Leaning forward, Arthur stretches and takes one of the already-soggy chips they’d taken away earlier from another late-night chippy downstairs. Seriously, it’s ridiculous how good Arthur looks in his sleep clothes. “I suppose. So, Merlin, would you like to go out for a pint once I can legally drink again?”

Merlin nudges at Arthur’s knee with his foot. “Now you’re just taking the piss.”

Arthur tickles the bottom of Merlin’s foot, which causes Merlin to yelp in surprise and scramble back, limbs flailing all over the sofa. “That’s revenge for this morning,” Arthur says, laughing. “And no, I’m serious. We should.”

“Hmm.” Merlin doesn’t quite know what to make of that, so naturally, he digs a deeper grave for himself by changing the subject to the first thing that he can think of. “Like the glasses, do you?”

“Hot professor,” Arthur says again, winking, making Merlin’s insides flip. “What’s not to like?”

“Stop doing that,” Merlin says, scratching at his ear, which is probably already going a little pink. “Your jokes are getting old.”

“Like you?”

“Oy. Aren’t you actually older than I am?”

“Not right now. And if we’re talking experience, you’re probably a lot more worldly than I am. What do I do? I’m just cooped up in an office, continuing my father’s legacy, hanging on the fringes of the rich and famous without really living.”

Wrapping an arm around Arthur, Merlin squeezes him for a bit while Arthur pouts, patting Arthur’s shoulder awkwardly before pulling away and clearing his throat. “Doesn’t have to stay that way. Go take a crazy trip somewhere, hit up a gay club – this time, with an agenda. There’s a lot to do, if you know where to look.”

“Or a lot of _people_ to do, you mean?” Smirking at Merlin, Arthur elbows him.

“Are you trying to overcompensate for all the innuendo you couldn’t pull off as an adult?” Merlin snorts. “Maybe. Whatever floats your boat, I say.”

Arthur pulls one of Merlin’s gigantic cushions over from his side of the couch and rests his head against it, looking up at Merlin from underneath his fringe. “Have you been with many?” He asks, quietly, holding onto the massive cushion with his face on the cartoonish parrot prints. “Men, that is.”

 _That’s a little personal,_ Merlin almost says, but the vulnerable look on Arthur’s face stops him. It’s not the dying-to-know curiosity he’s so used to with old friends wanting the scoop on his sex life, but something _raw_ , almost desperate. “Just a handful. I mean, just because I can get a little handsy when I’m a bit drunk, I’m not that much of a slag.” And his mouth’s running away with him again.

Arthur grins, closing his eyes as if imagining it. “Now I _really_ want to take you out for a pint to see how you’re like when you’re trolleyed. What’s it like?”

“With men?”

“Mmhmm.” Arthur tugs at a tassel, leaning in so one of his legs is on the sofa. “I mean. If you don’t mind me asking.”

Merlin probably would’ve if it were anyone else, but this is Arthur, and his soft spot for this ridiculous boy-really-a-man is growing bigger by the day. “Nah. Well, it’s different from women.” And how. “I guess I never really knew how much I swung that way until I experimented a little with my college mates. Couple of drunken snogs, some fumbling about, nothing serious.”

“Slag,” Arthur mock-whispers.

“Shush. But I liked it, though. Seemed such a huge thing at the time, and then I went and got my first serious boyfriend in uni. Was nice.” Merlin mulls over the memory of bagels after morning sex, hands linking under jackets where no one could see them. “It’s always been a bit more difficult, dating men. Not being able to really... be true to yourself in public.”

“I imagine.”

“My business is mine, though,” Merlin says, smiling to himself. “And liking men is just a part of who I am. Plus, I’d prefer keeping my partner all to myself, anyway.”

The background noise from the telly is all but forgotten now. Arthur rests both of his arms on the cushion. “Yeah?”

The thought of keeping Arthur all to himself comes unbidden. “...Yeah.”

There’s a soft _oomph_ as Arthur buries his face in the cushion for a while, before resurfacing with a grimace on his face. “Um.” He dips behind the cushion again, so only his eyes and twisted eyebrows are visible. “What would you do? If you did.”

Merlin slots his bookmark into his current page, since it’s obvious he’s not going to get any more reading done tonight. “How do you mean?”

“If you had your partner,” Arthur says, swallowing. “All to yourself.”

The world tilts for a moment, Merlin’s heart skipping a beat. Because Arthur surely isn’t — he’s not asking if — “I guess, well. I. Uh, I kind of like the movies,” he stammers, stumbling over himself and trying to pull his unrepentant mind out of the gutter. “Doesn’t even have to be at a cinema, could be at home. Watching telly, even. With takeout.”

The very minute he says that, Merlin sees Arthur’s gaze flick briefly to the chips on the table and back to his face. Merlin might as well take an actual pistol and shoot himself in the foot. 

“Sure.” Arthur’s voice is soft. Almost coaxing. He places the cushion behind him and edges towards Merlin, a palm spread out on the fabric. Merlin backs up when he moves nearer, but his elbow is already bumping against the arm rest. “And then?”

“And then... well—” It’s always sleepy kisses and tangled limbs, trapped under a warm throw when Merlin lies back on the sofa, time trickling by as clothes end up on the floor and he lazily works two lubed fingers into his lover, lets him ride Merlin’s cock right there. “Stuff,” Merlin finishes lamely, after a too-long pause.

“Stuff,” Arthur says disbelievingly, raising an eyebrow, moving closer and resting his head against Merlin’s arm draped over the sofa. Merlin resists the urge to stroke Arthur’s hair again; it’s softer than he’s imagined, and ever since he ruffled Arthur’s hair that first time, he’s just guiltily fantasised about how it would feel like to take a fistful of that coin-bright hair, tugging and snogging Arthur silly. “You can do better than that.”

This is treading on dangerous territory, Merlin knows, but he can’t help it. Stupid Arthur and his stupid, pretty eyes. It’s a bad idea. Hell, Arthur’s face is a bad idea. But Merlin _wants_. “Should I be flattered?”

Arthur bites his lip, quirk of a grin teasing at the edges of his mouth. “If you like.”

“What did you want to hear, then?” Merlin says. “Like what happens after we finish our greasy takeout and watch the telly?”

“Yeah.” And now Arthur’s fingers are innocently brushing Merlin’s calf, knuckles bumping against the edge of his pyjama bottoms. “You’re just there,” he murmurs, turning his hand around so his fingers just slip under the cloth, stroking at Merlin’s skin. “Talking about nothing. Someone makes a comment about being sleepy. But you’re not really tired, are you?”

Son of a bitch, Merlin thinks. Arthur has _moves_. He’s not sure if he’s more envious or aroused by this, or even a little jealous — if he’d turned these moves on the women he’s been with the way he’s doing with Merlin, there’s no way they would’ve been able to resist him. “No,” Merlin finds himself saying, his own self-control crumbling, breath coming faster when Arthur curls his fingers, teasing his nails lightly down Merlin’s leg and smoothing his thumb over his ankle. “I’m not.”

“You know what he’s thinking,” Arthur says, and Merlin’s not noticed it before, but Arthur’s fingers are trembling where he’s touching Merlin, his face flushed. “And you’re so close.”

“There’s no light on but the telly.” He can feel his cock filling; Merlin has to keep from moaning when Arthur abandons all pretense of mucking about with his ankle and inches his hand slowly upwards, just above Merlin’s knee. Fuck, but he can’t _think_ right now. “Mm.”

“Yeah,” Arthur breathes, sounding pleased that Merlin’s gotten with the programme. He keeps his hand there on Merlin’s leg as if afraid to move, the heat a slow burn through the thin cotton. He shifts closer, and there it is – Arthur flush along Merlin’s side, top of his head bumping against Merlin’s chin until he looks up. “You’re very much awake.” His voice has gone low, a husky curl that makes Merlin shiver. “So what are you going to do?”

“ _Arthur._ ” It’s too much, Arthur pushing all of Merlin’s buttons, pitching his voice low and being an all-around seductive little shit. He’s hardly a prude — if Arthur keeps this up, Merlin might just be the one to come in his pants like a teenager instead – but Arthur’s reckless and impulsive now, like this, and Merlin doesn’t know if this is Arthur or a potential bad and regrettable decision talking. “God. I would do so many things,” he says, voice wrecked. “I want to kiss, to taste. To touch.”

Arthur’s nose brushes his cheek, his breath hot on Merlin’s skin. “So do it.”

Holy fucking shit. Merlin exhales shakily, fingers digging so hard into the fabric there’s muffled scratching sounds. “But it’s late, Arthur,” he says, “And we should—” Stop, that’s what, before they both do something stupid they might regret at this hour.

Even if he wants nothing more than to bend Arthur over the couch right now and eat him out until he’s a sobbing mess.

Arthur curls a hand into the front of Merlin’s shirt, knee digging into the space between Merlin’s legs. “Merlin,” he says, his other hand fumbling over Merlin’s on the arm rest, “I—”

Merlin’s arm slips, smacking soundly against his lamp on the small coffee table and sending it crashing to the ground, already loose lid flying off at an impressive trajectory over the couch. “Bloody hell,” Merlin swears, pushing Arthur back and scrambling off the sofa to take a look at the lamp with the bulb still pulsing bravely in its wire encasing. “It has been five fucking years, does this ugly thing never die?”

Plodding over to where Merlin’s kneeling on the floor and twisting the lamp back on, Arthur pulls at his shirt self-consciously. Merlin’s eyes drag unwillingly to the space between his neck and shoulder, and Arthur’s sleepy gaze sharpens when he notices. “Is your lamp okay?”

Merlin rights it on the table, prodding at the lamp cover for good measure. It’s an atrocious pop art masterpiece his best friend Will had given him many years ago as a joke, and it probably would last another hundred years or so even after they’d all kicked the bucket. “Seems like. There goes my excuse to redecorate.”

Slipping his hands into his pocket, Arthur tilts his head to look at it. “What do you have against the poor thing?”

“My friends have shite taste in furniture.” Merlin’s immensely grateful for the distraction, though. He’d nearly let his dick get the better of him; he’s not going to take advantage of Arthur, not when Arthur trusts him and is vulnerable in his current state. Arthur deserves better than that. “Um. So. Sorry about the lamp. I—” Awkwardly, Merlin thrusts his quilt into Arthur’s hands, turning to stiltedly walk back to his room with a chub. “Good night.”

Arthur looks down at the quilt and drapes it over the edge of the sofa. “Oh, and Merlin?” He says, quietly, crooking a finger. 

“Yes?” Merlin’s traitorous legs carry him over to the sofa, where Arthur tugs him down by his shirt.

“Whenever you’re done being noble,” he murmurs, tease of tongue down Merlin’s ear, “I’ll be glad to give you a hand.” And then he lets Merlin go, laughing, watching Merlin stumble away from the living room with half-lidded eyes.

Merlin doesn’t get much sleep at all again that night.

* * *

The loud beeps of Merlin’s e-mail notifications cut through a very pleasant dream of Arthur mouthing up his throat. His eyes snap open to the reality of his sadly Arthur-less bed. 

Sighing, Merlin rummages around on his bedside table for his phone, finally resorting to a minor summoning spell when he’s too lazy to get up and see where it really is. He levitates it in front of his face as he yawns, putting his glasses on. “ _A minor breakthrough_ ,” Merlin reads. “Minor? I really have to get them to word their e-mails better. _Please bring Mr. Pendragon in for a second round of samples and testing_.”

Trust Freya and Gwaine to need him back in the lab so early when he can barely keep his eyes open. Blinking slowly, he cracks three eggs into a pan, heating another for bacon. Having made breakfast on autopilot for years, his magic instinctively stirs his scrambled eggs and neatly arranges four slices of toast on plates.

Merlin yawns again, folding his arms while the bacon cooks.

“What’re you making?” Arthur asks behind him, sidling up to Merlin.

Safe questions. Yes, Merlin can do safe questions. “Bacon,” Merlin answers absently without turning around, flicking a finger so a piece flips itself. “Slept well?”

“Very,” Arthur murmurs, leaning over Merlin’s shoulder, chest warm against Merlin’s back. Merlin’s arm brushes skin – Arthur doesn’t have his shirt on. “Smells good.”

“Um.” Merlin flips another piece of bacon over, swallowing, feeling Arthur’s breath on his cheek. “It’s almost, uh, done. So.”

There’s a throaty chuckle in his ear, and then Arthur’s perfectly respectable hold on Merlin’s right shoulder dips below his collar, drawing his fingers up the back of Merlin’s neck. “I wasn’t talking about the bacon.”

Merlin really should’ve wanked before coming out of the room, because now his very interested cock is reminding him reproachfully just whose fault it was he didn’t get any yesterday. “Oh?” He tries nonchalantly.

Slowly, agonisingly, Arthur peels his warmth off the line of Merlin’s back, stepping away to lean against the counter to watch him with an innocent expression. “I love the smell of scrambled eggs.”

Merlin is going to kill him. Glaring at Arthur when he sets his plate before him, Merlin says, “We need to go into work today. They’ve a couple of sample cures they’ve developed for you, we need to check how your body reacts to them.” 

Arthur looks at him dubiously, while Merlin tries not to look at the play of the morning light over Arthur’s naked chest. He catches himself wondering briefly if Arthur likes his nipples teased, appalled at how he’s already having dirty thoughts before nine a.m. This is a new low. “What if these test cures make my condition worse?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, it’ll be fine. We weave in conditional spell clauses for cures like this, isolating the effects from adding to your current state. They’re supposed to interact only with the original spell, and failing that, they will not react at all. Kind of like inert chemicals.” And now he’s wondering if older, adult Arthur has dusky-gold chest hair. Mmm, chest hair.

“I see.” Arthur chews on his bacon, catching Merlin looking and smirking. “See something you like?”

Has Merlin always been this transparent? No wonder everyone says he can’t act to save his life. “What, my breakfast?” 

Licking his lips, Arthur leans back, dangling his fork from his fingers when he gives Merlin a once-over. “Because I sure do.”

Merlin is not equipped for the cheesy flirtation of one Arthur Pendragon. “Shut up, Arthur,” he mumbles, his face flaming while he spreads butter on his toast. 

“You should make me,” Arthur says, very quietly, his eyes dark and very blue.

His reserves of self-restraint are nearly exhausted; Merlin’s wildly tempted to push Arthur against a wall and do just that for a moment, but he exhales sharply instead, gripping at the edge of his table and standing up so abruptly his plate clatters. “We leave in ten.”

Drinking the last of his juice, Arthur sets his glass down. There’s a small tinkling sound as his fork bounces off his chair and onto the floor. “Whoops,” Arthur says, bending over to pick it up so his fine apple arse is right in Merlin’s line of sight. “Clumsy me.”

Merlin opens his mouth, closes it again, and walks back to his room without saying another word. He changes his mind within seconds and slams the door open again to yell, “This isn’t Legally Blonde!”

“My arse is far superior!” Arthur shouts back from the living room. He’s right, but Merlin’s not going to admit it to his face. 

It’s going to be a long day.

* * *

Merlin waves a hand, rolling out the different charts and rune set ups for the samples of different cures his team is developing for Arthur. “Narrowed it down yet?”

“To three, Merlin,” Gwaine says, tapping on the names and their combinations. “The others were all variants, but we’ll go with these three to finalise a determinant.”

“And once we’ve got that down, we can proceed with testing the sample with the best results until we have our cure.” Merlin flips to another page, scanning for the most vital magical information and possible chemical reactions to look out for. “Good work, Gwaine. I guess I do keep you around for a reason.”

“I thought it was just for my dashing good looks.” This, accompanied by a single toss of his long, commercial-worthy hair. He’s not doing anything with the chemicals right now, which is the only reason Merlin’s letting him get away with not tying his hair back. “This is doing wonders for my self-esteem today, boss. My existence is validated.”

Swatting at Gwaine has always been ineffectual, but he does it anyway. “Get me the samples, you cad.”

After taking down some notes and displaying the composition of the three different potions they’re going to be running with Arthur later, Merlin sighs and rubs at his forehead. He’d fully expected his team to be efficient about this, but he’s tired and everything chemistry-related is taking a little longer to process for him than usual.

When he looks over to where Freya is running Arthur’s diagnostics and taking his blood samples, he finds Arthur looking straight at him, starting when he realises Merlin’s caught him in the act. Strangely, Arthur’s the one to look away this time, a small tic in his jaw.

“This will only take a moment,” Freya says, drawing a sample of Arthur’s blood with a syringe.

Wincing, Arthur raises her eyebrows at her and hisses when she’s finally done. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but the last time my doctor said that, he made an enema joke. I’m still scarred for life.”

“Now, now, Mr. Pendragon. It is a perfectly harmless procedure...”

“That’s what he said, too!”

Gwaine places three small dishes in front of Merlin on the table and a thick wad of papers stapled together. “The full distilled test cures are still in their beakers, and we’ll measure what’s needed for Arthur once we complete the processes.”

Merlin swivels his chair around and squeezes Gwaine’s shoulder. “Good. Isolate and contain them until we need them.”

“What do you take me for, boss?” Gwaine grumbles. “We’ve already done that this morning. They’re in the separate, time-freeze machine. You know, the one you won an award for designing?”

“That’s old news. Anyway, you do get distracted by Freya an awful lot, just saying,” Merlin says absently, circling some text on the page with his red pen as Gwaine starts sputtering half-baked denials in front of him. “What? I have eyes.”

“We’re—” Gwaine holds his hands up. “She’s always had a thing for you, Merlin. I’ve never stood a chance.”

“What? Don't be silly. That ship sailed ages ago. And I thought you had a thing for me, too?” Merlin winks at him. Gwaine flirts with everyone in the lab, anyway, it’s nothing personal. “I thought the whole superior yelling at you thing got you hot under the collar.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Emrys,” Gwaine drawls, tilting his head towards Arthur’s general direction and lowering his voice, “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

Merlin holds up an indignant finger, fully prepared to object, but thinks better of it. “...You have a point.”

Making a show of arranging the small petri dishes neatly as Freya walks back to them with Arthur’s blood samples, Gwaine leans over to Merlin to whisper conspiratorially, “So, you and Mr. Pendragon...?”

“I never knew dealing with a teenager could be so exhausting,” Merlin confesses, cricking his neck, before realising belatedly what that must’ve implied.

Freya perks up, wedging herself between them. “Ooh, I see I’ve made it back in time for an interesting update.”

“Not exactly the update you think.” Merlin looks over her head to smirk at Gwaine, who’s blushing a little at her proximity. “Though Gwaine here had some really interesting things to say about—”

“I was just asking for an update of Merlin’s current living situation,” Gwaine says quickly. “You know, since he finally has a chance with the object of his affections.”

“Indeed.” Freya shoves both elbows forward, resting her chin on her palms and giving Merlin a cheeky glance. It’s easy to remember why Merlin had a crush on her when he still dated women and why Gwaine’s been moping around her these days. “I’m listening.”

Merlin spreads both of his palms flat on the table, stretching and hopping off the swivel chair. “We’re here to test the samples,” he says, “so let’s get to it.”

“Spoilsport. D’you think Mr. Pendragon’s finally gotten a clue?” Freya mutters out of the corner of her mouth, raising an eyebrow.

Gwaine taps her shoulder with his knuckles, letting his gaze slide over to where Arthur’s pulling his jacket back on a little aggressively. “He wouldn’t stop looking at Merlin here the entire time,” he begins, trailing off. “If I didn’t know better... huh.”

Freya tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Isn’t that interesting.”

“A little less conversation about my love life and a little more action on getting Mr. Pendragon cured, please,” Merlin says loudly.

“What about Mr. Pendragon?” Arthur sidles over, head tilted, looking like one of those young models on the runway with his pressed loose shirt and trousers. He can dress, Merlin will give him that.

He swats at Freya and Gwaine. “My staff were getting a bit overexcited about nothing. Would you like to see how we’ll test for the cure?”

Arthur leans forward, looking at Gwaine for a moment before turning back to Merlin. “Why not,” he says, voice level.

It’s a far cry from how animated Arthur was this morning. “Arthur—”

“Mr. Pendragon will suffice while we’re in the vicinity.” Tapping his slightly loosened thumb ring against the table, Arthur shrugs. “Shall we?”

Well, that’s hardly necessary, but Merlin’s not going to call Arthur out for this in front of so many people in the lab. “Yes, sir,” he says, confused and a little hurt, punching out the title for emphasis. Freya hands him a pair of goggles, watching Arthur in bewilderment.

“I thought he told you to call him Arthur,” Gwaine whispers, leaning over in Merlin’s ear.

“Anytime now, Merlin,” Arthur says sharply.

What has gotten into Arthur anyway? Merlin pulls his gloves on, giving Arthur an incredulous look. “I need to exercise safety measures. Otherwise, we’d have a repeat of what was the cause of this entire mess in the first place.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?” Quiet, like the calm before a storm.

Merlin holds up his gloved hands. “I didn’t say anything! Mr. Pendragon, just let me do my work.”

Arthur nods and links his fingers tightly in front of him, nails digging into his palms when Merlin holds up the dropper carefully, letting a few drops of Arthur’s blood fall onto the first petri dish.

Her small heels make soft clicking sounds against the floor as Freya tries to look closer. “Blue,” she says, when the small wisps of smoke have cleared and the glowing rune that’d hung briefly above the dish disintegrates. “Non-reactive.”

“I didn’t expect it to,” Merlin says, sighing. “Cross it out on the papers. The magic woven into this one is too direct. This has Gilli’s magical signature over it.”

“Sorry,” comes a sheepish voice from Merlin’s left.

“That’s all right, you’re learning. Your foundation for the compound is there, it’s just that the determinant is incorrect. Let’s try this next one.” Two drops, and the light that emanates from the reaction unfolds from above the dish like an unfurling blossom. Narrowing his eyes for a better look, Merlin takes a copy of the rune’s readings and examines it closely. “Has potential, actually,” he notes. “We can reuse this formula for some of our future projects.”

“I helped with that one,” Gwaine says, beaming.

“Then I take that back,” Merlin says without missing a beat. Freya giggles, and Gwaine elbows her. The compound finally settles on a shaky pink, before eventually fading back to blue. “All right, I’m joking, but it’s not the most suitable determinant. Unstable. We’ll go with this one if the other doesn’t work and see if we can’t improve it.”

“Unstable,” Freya whispers loudly. “Like you.”

“You’re the unstable one,” Gwaine mutters.

Shaking his head, Merlin rolls up his sleeves a little more and picks up the dropper again. Arthur frowns, his eyes dropping to Merlin’s wrists while he moves his thumb ring around on his finger.

“Get a room.” Merlin pulls the last petri dish towards him.

Freya laughs, nudging Merlin. “You like watching.”

She’s not half-wrong, if the way he was simply unable to extricate himself from the living room that night when Arthur had been wanking was any indication. The light catching at the curve of Arthur’s throat had stayed burned into his mind for _days._ “I didn’t know you liked the scruffy sort like our friend here.”

“I’ve always liked the scruffy sort.” It’s always been an inside joke between them – Freya would tease and compliment him exaggeratedly whenever they had long projects and he didn’t shave, but now it’s clear she probably has a type. Gwaine may be fixated on her, but Freya’s eyes wander back to him too when she says it. “Go on, then, don’t keep us in suspense.”

“Right. So, who designed this last one?”

Freya conjures up a diagram of a rune, pushing it towards Merlin confidently. “I did.”

Of course she did – Merlin never expected anything less from Freya. He lays out the pulsing diagram to his side, tracing the edges with his fingers. The elements of the rune look solid, with more knots and magic strengtheners woven throughout. She’s always had a good eye for detail. “Let’s see how you do, then.” 

When the blood comes in contact with the liquid, they swirl upwards together in a small column of amber and red before falling back down in a soft splash, mixing together and solidifying. It starts to glow from within, almost like molten lava emerging from under cracked soil, a rune beginning to write itself from the centre of the dish and around it so that Merlin has to pull his hands away from the table.

“Come on, come on,” Freya whispers.

Gwaine rolls his eyes, but there’s a proud smile on his face. “Show-off.”

She grins back at him excitedly. Merlin has to kick himself for not noticing these two sooner – he’d probably been mooning over Arthur at the time. Well, _all_ the time.

The rune draws back in on itself abruptly, encasing the dish in a small dome of light before falling away in fragments to reveal a perfectly pink liquid.

“Well,” Merlin says, after a moment. “I do believe we have our determinant.”

“Yes!” Freya actually jumps, punching the air, catching herself under Merlin’s meaningful stare and raised eyebrow. “Er, that is.”

“No, no, we have reason for celebration.” He reaches out to Arthur, placing a tentative hand on Arthur’s arm. For a second, Arthur’s eyes go wide, and Merlin almost thinks he might shake him off. He doesn’t, leaning into Merlin’s touch instead, even if he doesn’t look away. “We’ll be able to get Mr. Pendragon back to normal now.”

“Aw, but I just got used to seeing Mr. Pendragon as a gorgeous young bloke I wouldn’t have had a chance with at that age,” Gwaine says, striking a pose and winking at Arthur. When Arthur stills under Merlin’s hand, surprised, Gwaine lifts his chin and winks at Merlin instead, as if to say _my work here is done._ How odd.

Merlin sighs, making a shooing motion as he tightens his grip on Arthur’s arm. “This gorgeous young bloke is still _upstairs_ , I remind you, and could very well send Lance after your sorry arse with all your terrible flirting.”

“But I don’t discriminate,” Gwaine whines, digging his hands into his lab pockets, ponytail bobbing behind him. “It’s all a spot of fun, and everyone in science is so attractive.”

“Some more than others?” Merlin says, tilting his head towards Freya who has her back turned to them. Arthur follows his gaze, as does Gwaine.

“Don’t you dare.” Gwaine lets his voice drop to a mortified hiss. “She’d never let me hear the end of it.”

“Hey, you heard her.” And now it’s Merlin’s turn to wink. “She likes them scruffy, and there’s no one scruffier than you in this company.”

“You should see Leon in Finance,” Arthur ventures, shrugging. When they both look at him, he just coughs. “His beard is atrocious.”

“And you’re just artfully...” Merlin struggles for a word. “Unkempt. It’s very in. So, you know. Go tell her she did a good job with the cure.”

“Yeah?” Stumbling backwards, Gwaine strokes his stubbled chin, almost self-consciously. “You reckon?”

This is almost painful to watch. Merlin nearly says so, but wisely closes his mouth lest Gwaine bring up how he occasionally acted around Arthur during some of his more hopelessly infatuated periods. Like the one time they’d gotten Merlin drunk at a do and he’d cooked up a quick limerick in honour of Arthur’s magnificent, bespoke trousers-clad arse. “Yes, and then send me a report on the findings and how the compositions reacted. I expect it in my inbox this evening.”

“Understood,” Gwaine says, shoulders slumping, and then more softly under his breath, “Slavedriver.”

“What’s that? You’d like to send it before lunch? Be my guest.”

“Merlin! Have a heart,” Freya calls from where she’s sorting out some apparatus in a cupboard. “We’ve been working really hard on this around the clock.”

“I was kidding, but seriously, I need it by this afternoon. Complete with a report and what you’re going to finalise the cure’s compound with.”

“Yessir.”

“Oh, c’mon, you know I hate it when you do that.”

“You do it with Mr. Pendragon,” Freya says slyly, waggling her eyebrows before turning back to her work.

“That’s not,” Merlin begins, feeling himself colour, especially when Arthur looks at him, amused. “Just finish the damned cure,” he mumbles after, getting to his feet. “I’ll await your e-mail at home.”

“Plans, hmm?” So knowing, so smug. He should just kick them all into a ditch. “Shan’t interrupt you unless absolutely necessary, Merlin.”

“We are heading home now,” Merlin says over her voice, gathering his things. “Shall we, Ar — Mr. Pendragon?”

Arthur buttons up his jacket, a small smile on his face now. “Arthur.”

They’re really going to have to talk about that small episode. “Teenagers first,” Merlin says, opening the door of the lab so Arthur can walk through.

“Before we go,” Arthur says, hesitating after a few steps. “Is it all right if we drop by the roof?”

“I always thought that was off-limits,” Merlin says.

Arthur holds up his access card – bloody hell, it even has gold foil on the edges – and raises an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

“I was saying,” Merlin segues in smoothly as they walk towards the single lift with access to the top floor, “Whatever works for you, _sir_.”

“Oh, God, that sir thing really does sound weird.”

Merlin clears his throat, giving Arthur the tiniest, shyest smile. “I, um. I actually like saying it.”

This seems to pique Arthur’s interest. “Why?”

Hell, he’s already made a string of bad decisions this week, what’s another? He takes in Arthur’s face, completely curious, and... he’s yet to pay Arthur back for this morning, Merlin recalls suddenly. So he leans in while they’re at the back of the lift, murmuring, “I like saying it. And I do like it when someone calls me _sir_ , too. Just—” He smiles against Arthur’s cheek, pulls the pause for a thick, tension-filled moment. “When we’re not in the lab.”

There’s a rustle as Arthur stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets, shifting on his feet with his back against the wall of the lift. “Oh,” he says, catching on, layers of meaning to the single syllable. 

Drawing back, Merlin folds his arms and looks resolutely at the steadily increasing numbers on the display until they finally reach the top floor. “So, the roof, huh?”

“Yeah.” Arthur offers a small smile, stepping out of the lift and into the small lobby with the glass walls overlooking the roof. When he opens the door, the small breeze that drifts in tickles the ferns flanking it. “You’ll see why.”

And when they walk towards the edge of the roof, Merlin does. Leaning against the railing, Merlin takes in the view; the building they work in is one of the tallest buildings this side of the city, and it shows. There’s a sprawling cityscape before him – he can see the new developments over the hills, the park he sometimes goes to for lunch, the school he passes by on the way to work. All that, in the pulsing urban heart of the city he’s grown up in for years. “Well, isn’t this something.”

“It’s humbling. Sometimes when I’m working late and things get a bit overwhelming, I come up here to look at the lights, take a deep breath, have my timeout... and then I feel better. Much better.” Arthur fishes out a cigarette, lights it. “Want a fag?”

“You’re seventeen!” Merlin says, appalled, before he catches himself. “Oh. That’s right.”

Arthur gives him a small grin, blowing out the smoke. “That’s right. So?”

He’s still feeling the rush from becoming a step closer to a cure, which is the only reason Merlin dares to brush his fingers over Arthur’s, stealing his cigarette away for a long drag and passing it back to Arthur who gives him a lingering, speculative look. “Haven’t done that in a while,” he says evasively. 

“Uh-huh.” Taking another drag, Arthur turns around to lean against the railing. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“So, you and Gwaine.” Arthur begins, shaking his head. “You aren’t...”

“No?” Merlin says, thrown. “We’ve never, I mean. No. He’s a good colleague. And a friend.”

“Oh,” Arthur says in a small voice, coughing. “I thought earlier that — okay. Right.”

Quite a number of things fall conveniently into perspective. Even though he thinks he might already know, Merlin decides to ask anyway. “Arthur, what was that all about?” 

“I.” Rubbing the back of his neck and hiding his fringe, Arthur looks every inch the petulant teenager caught, well, smoking. “Look. I thought you pushed me away because of him. And I thought I was such a fucking idiot, too.”

“Whatever for?” Aghast, Merlin grabs Arthur’s arms.

“Because I went all in,” Arthur says, with a quick, sharp laugh. “I almost — I thought I stood a chance. And then to see the two of you in the lab, well.”

So that was why Gwaine had flirted with Arthur. “Yeah, it’s not like that.”

“I know _now_.” Turning away to exhale, Arthur tilts his head back. “I’m angrier with myself for losing control. I’ve never been—”

“Jealous?” He’s still disgruntled at how Arthur’d acted in the lab, but Merlin feels oddly warmed by this.

“No, not really,” Arthur admits. “And certainly not this much.”

“I’m flattered.” Merlin nudges him. “But you were still an ass.”

“All right, all right. Shall I make it up to you again?”

Covering his smile with his hand, Merlin looks straight ahead at the horizon instead of Arthur’s adorable, huffy expression. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, let’s see.” A pebble clatters across the ground as Arthur kicks it absently, looking thoughtful. “After this, er.” He gestures down at all of himself, “After this is all sorted out, I could... take you to dinner?”

“Oh?” This is fun, getting Arthur all worked up. “I’m listening.”

“We could catch a movie, too.”

“Go on.”

“Maybe a little walk in the park?” Arthur takes another puff, clearing his throat. “Um. Go to a chippy’s for supper.”

“Sounding more appealing by the minute,” Merlin says, covering Arthur’s hand with his on the railing, rubbing at his knuckles. Arthur turns his palm upwards, squeezing Merlin’s fingers. “And then?”

“And then...” Arthur says, leaning in and looking into Merlin’s eyes, cigarette forgotten. 

“Yeah?” He can’t stop looking at Arthur’s mouth.

“And then, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” Chuckling, Arthur pulls back. Fucking tease.

“I’ll hold you to it.” He rolls up his sleeves and rests them against the railing again, feeling awfully small with all these tall buildings around him, the distance stretching around him for miles. 

They say it’s a small world. Yeah, maybe, but it’s big enough to get lost in, too – to drown in.

When Arthur returns to his normal, adult self, he’ll have his options open to him again. A wealth of possibilities, any number of men and women who’d want him, throw themselves at his feet. Plenty of people who aren’t Merlin, who’re probably more attractive than Merlin, more charming than Merlin, better in bed than Merlin. 

Merlin knows he’s fucked up. Sure, Arthur’s driven him crazy – boss-crazy and crush-crazy – and he’d always thought he never stood a chance. And now, after they perform the counterspell with the potion and Arthur doesn’t need to stay at Merlin’s anymore, or even be around him that much at all... who’s to say he’ll stick around, especially if what’s been going on points to him just being interested in Merlin for a fuck?

He has no claim to Arthur, never has. It’ll hurt like a bitch if, after all this, Arthur finally stops showing up alone to all those glitzy company events – but not with Merlin.

Still, Merlin can try. He wants to, fiercely, after all those years of stammering and silence and being intimidated and growing to like Arthur, his superior and now, learning to love the man behind the semblance of steel and suits. 

His heart bloody hurts in his chest just looking at the git of a teenager in front of him, hair all messy from the wind as he continues smoking like the delinquent he probably wished he was more of in school. Merlin knows for a fact Arthur was the goody-two-shoes to end all goody-two-shoes, which somehow makes the entire image all the more endearing.

“Earth to Merlin!” Arthur snaps his fingers right in front of Merlin’s face. 

Startled, Merlin jumps, stumbling over his feet so he lands arse-first on the ground with a small thud that seems to ring the loudest in his ears. “Ow,” he says, after a few seconds have passed, blinking.

“Oh, Merlin, why are you such a klutz?” Arthur holds out a hand. “You didn’t hear what I was saying, I guess. Sorry if I startled you.”

Merlin accepts it, feeling himself pulled to his feet by Arthur yanking him forward with just the one arm, so much so that he bumps into Arthur’s chest. Ooh, hello. He _really_ can’t deny he’s always liked them muscular. “Give a man some warning next time, yeah?”

“I was calling your name for a bit,” Arthur says, raising his eyebrows, not letting go of where Merlin’s flush against him, hands just hooked around Merlin’s arms. “Distracted?”

Oh, where to begin. “Maybe,” he says, grinning at Arthur.

From the way Arthur smiles shyly in response, he knows exactly what Merlin’s referring to. “Right.” He rests his cheek on a palm, elbow digging into the smooth stone of the balcony, brows furrowing as the corners of his mouth smooth out into a line. “I... Morgana replied.”

“What’d she say?” It feels natural to just slide his arm around Arthur’s slumped shoulders, pulling him a little closer. Arthur sighs, top of his head bumping against Merlin’s jaw. 

“It was curt.” Fishing inside his pocket for his phone, Arthur eventually finds it and scrolls past all his screens and apps to get to his messages. “Classic Morgana, wouldn’t have expected anything less. But the fact that she replied at all...”

“It’s a start,” Merlin says, and Arthur nods.

Arthur looks at the text message for a while, before putting his phone away again. “She wouldn’t pick up my calls when I tried reaching her that time. Next thing I knew, she’d flown out of the country out of spite – and from what I heard from Leon and Lancelot, had a roaring time getting all sorts of beach boys to do her bidding while she took a break from us. Well. From family.”

Merlin’s not met Morgana at all, but he believes it. “Beach boys, huh.”

“She has her ways,” Arthur scoffs. “Crooks a finger, they all come running.”

 _I’d come running if you crooked yours,_ Merlin thinks. Instead, he says, “Run in the family?”

Giving him an unreadable glance, Arthur looks like he wants to say something, but closes his mouth. “I wish,” he says, after a while, still looking at Merlin. “She’s back in town. Wants to meet tomorrow.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Merlin begins, stopping when Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Er. Right. I keep forgetting.”

“A klutz who’s _also_ forgetful. Don’t even know why I...” Arthur shakes his head. “Well, it’s fine. No matter what happens, I don’t think she’ll sell this to any papers or whatever. She’s better than that.”

“Will you meet her, then?”

Arthur hesitates. “Yes. For obvious reasons, she doesn’t want to step inside Pendragon Pharmaceuticals – and it’s not like I can meet her in my official capacity there until your guys finish distilling the cure next week. She wants me to go to her company.”

Merlin strokes up and down Arthur’s arm through the jacket, slow, soothing motions. “It’ll be fine.”

“I haven’t spoken to her in years.”

“Nervous?” Merlin says lightly.

“Yeah, you think?” Exhaling, Arthur leans into the bracket of Merlin’s arm. “I don’t want to fuck this up. She’s finally letting me reach out to her after so long. And that’s saying something, since she sulked for a good five months that one time I put beetles in her makeup kit.”

Merlin has to replay that last sentence in his mind again before he asks, disbelievingly, “And why would you even do that?”

Arthur laughs, shoulders shaking. “It was a bloody good idea at the time.”

“I cannot even believe you.” Merlin looks heavenward. “You know, I could go with you. If you want me to. Maybe be a buffer, if you need one.”

“No, we’ve needed to talk, so... it should really be between me and her.” Arthur pauses. “But I would really appreciate that. If you could come with me.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You’re kind of decent,” Arthur acknowledges seriously, and Merlin shoves him.

“Kind of?!”

“All right, somewhat decent.”

“That’s hardly an improvement,” Merlin says, feigning outrage, but then a palm’s covering his mouth.

“You talk too much,” Arthur says, fighting back a grin that eventually softens. “Thank you, you somewhat decent bloke.”

Merlin attempts to mumble “You’re welcome” against Arthur’s palm, flushing when he realises it feels a whole lot like he’s mouthing and kissing at the skin.

Arthur pulls his hand back like nothing happened. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

“All right. It’s not like we have anything better to do, anyway.”

Glancing at him askance, Arthur puts out his cigarette. “What do you do on your annual leave days? Languish around in the productivity of watching telly like you’ve been doing the last week or so?”

“Last I checked, most of my annual leave days weren’t spent needing to cater to an impatient, restless teenager with the annoying smugness of an adult. Who’s _also_ a morning person,” Merlin says, grimacing. “I run errands and stuff, anyway, or sleep in after a night out.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You can sleep in tomorrow, we don’t need to get up so early. Well, _you_ , anyway. I want to go for a jog.”

Merlin just stares at him in the lift while Arthur unzips his jacket again.

“What?” Arthur asks, finally.

“Seriously, one of those people,” Merlin mutters, secretly amused.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

* * *

Merlin peeks out from behind the fire escape door to his floor. “All clear.”

“I keep telling you, all we need is one of those face scarves and I’ll be set to look like someone out to rob my own company,” Arthur says dryly, ambling out from behind the door. “So lead the way, genius. You’re the one who keeps insisting we have to take the other exit out from this floor.”

“I know where all the weaknesses in the magic shields are.” Merlin shrugs, waving a hand above them to weave a small force field that renders them unnoticeable by magical surveillance. “The blind spots.”

“Terrible. I’m going to have them look into your floor once all this is over and done with. Make sure you’re not getting up to no good.”

“You won’t,” Merlin says, turning around to flash him a quick grin. “Only mischief I’ll be doing around here is with you in tow.”

“Managing director turned a partner in crime.” Sighing, Arthur slinks behind Merlin, successfully avoiding the local chatty janitor by virtue of a strategically placed cabinet. “So it has come to this.”

“Crime? We’re walking around very carefully to...” Merlin snaps his fingers quietly, looking for the words. “Perform an efficient and discreet removal of our persons from the building.”

“Not helping!”

“Shush, you’re the one who’s making a— oh. Hello.” He swings up a hand abruptly to stop Arthur in his tracks. Arthur nearly bumps into him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Pendragon.”

“Good afternoon,” Uther says, looking down again at Merlin’s tag and back up. Merlin can’t blame him for not remembering, he supposes – despite sharing many similarities with his father, that’s one thing that Arthur’s always been better at, forging connections with others no matter their status. Uther’s always been firmly lodged in the upper crust. “Mr. Emrys.”

He realises how he must look, with his loosely tucked-in polo and old jeans only barely hidden by his lab coat. Uther wouldn’t miss that. “Uh, casual Friday, sir.”

“I’m sure,” Uther replies, adjusting his full three-piece suit where his diamond cufflinks catch the ceiling light just so. He steps around Merlin, having noticed Arthur. “Still on your visit, Arnold?”

“Got a month a’ holidays,” Arthur says. Merlin already feels like cleaning his ears out with the really put-upon nasally tone Arthur’s going for. “Merlin’s been brill. Showed me ‘round, full monty and things, took me to all the nice places. Ain’t nothing more exciting coming up to the big city.”

“It’s different, yes.” Honestly, Merlin has never seen Uther smile until he talked to ‘Arnold’. Despite what Arthur thinks, Uther may feel a connection with him because of how much he must subconsciously remind him of his son – probably a given, since they are basically one and the same. Terrible fake accent notwithstanding. “Have you told your folks how you’re doing?”

Arthur tucks in his hands in his pockets, shoulders squaring up. “Not really.” There’s that hint of _something_ in his voice again. Not quite resentment, not anger – just a kind of lonely resignation. “Doesn’t feel like they want to hear from me, either, y’know? Conversations are short. Clipped. Always have been.” He scratches the back of his neck, not quite meeting Uther’s eyes. “I don’t see the point.”

“I can’t speak for your parents,” Uther says. “But with my son and daughter – sometimes I don’t say the things I mean. And I don’t mean the things I say.” He claps a gentle hand to Arthur’s shoulder. “We’re proud people, the three of us. No backing down. No giving in.”

Arthur swallows, finally looking up at Uther. 

“That pride – my pride – drove away my daughter. Even now, it stops me from regret, from looking for her.” Uther’s face is blank, but the lines drawn back from his eyes are deeply sad. “I am a hard man. But if I have ever made my son feel like he didn’t matter, I have no one else to blame. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Merlin looks between the two of them, unsure. There’s a deeper note hidden in their conversation he can’t quite make out.

“Actions don’t always speak louder than words,” Arthur says eventually. “You gotta tell _these_ things to them. Show them this is what you mean. What you really want to say.”

Uther laughs humourlessly. “As if it’s that easy.”

“Do it anyway.” Arthur folds his arms, gesturing restlessly with his left hand. “If you really mean that they matter to you. I’m sure they want to know. Need. They need to know.”

“Aren’t you a wise young man,” Uther says, looking at Arthur. “For your years.”

“If I were wiser,” Arthur answers, “I’d not be so consumed with the fear of disappointing my fa— my folks. I’d know better.”

Merlin puts a hand on his back.

“I have another engagement.” Uther gives Arthur and Merlin the slightest nod, just like he did the other day in the café. “But I will give what you said some thought.”

“G’day, sir.” Arthur nods in return, too, but less stiffly than before, Merlin notes.

Uther takes a few steps down towards the main lift hall, before stopping and turning around.

“Give your parents a chance, Arnold,” Uther says, quietly. “You might be surprised.”

* * *

“What do you think he meant by that?”

Merlin looks up from his book, having gotten bored halfway through the movie they’re watching. “Hmm?”

Arthur looks comfortable enough with his limbs strewn out haphazardly under the throw they’re both sharing and the way he’s still managing to lean against Merlin’s arm, but Merlin’s currently significantly older bones are aching in sympathy. “Give them a chance, he said.”

“Maybe he’s thinking of you,” Merlin says. “And Morgana.”

Sighing, Arthur pulls the throw up to his chest, crossing his legs and accidentally kicking Merlin’s knee. “Maybe we’ve always been afraid, too. Too proud, like he said.”

“It’s never too late, right?” Placing his book on the table, Merlin reaches for the chips and offers them to Arthur. They can have chips while watching a movie, he reasons sagely to himself. They’re only sharing a throw between mates. After they’d both pointedly refused to go to bed even after the second movie and had agreed on putting on a third one. After midnight. It doesn’t have to mean anything, even if Arthur’s knuckles are brushing his knees through his cotton pants. “Chips?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Arthur says, munching on one before settling back to watch witty banter between salty pirates.

At some point during the movie, Merlin stretches his arm across the couch, and Arthur ends up resting his head on Merlin’s shoulder. He catches himself stroking Arthur’s hair behind his ear absently after a few minutes, keeping his hand awkwardly resting above Arthur’s chest later.

When the screen goes black and the credits roll, making the unlit room even darker than it already is, they both don’t move. Arthur’s so still that Merlin thinks he’s asleep, until he turns his face to Merlin’s neck, breathing there.

“Hey,” Arthur murmurs, sleepy-soft, smiling into Merlin’s skin.

It takes all his willpower to not stroke his fingers down Arthur’s ear, down to his chin and his neck. Merlin has to admit he’s impressed with himself. “Hey, yourself. Want me to tuck you in, sleepyhead?”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur says fondly, nosing up Merlin’s throat. “You smell nice.”

Swallowing, Merlin shuts his eyes and curses his conscience as he gently cups Arthur’s face, pulling away. “Arthur, don’t... I can’t do this.”

Arthur stills, hand caught in Merlin’s shirt. “You don’t want this?”

“I—” The hurt in Arthur’s expression twists his guts. “No, I do. You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this for years,” Merlin admits, coughing when Arthur’s eyes go wide. “But now, you’re — no, I know you’re really an adult.” He swipes his thumb lightly over Arthur’s bottom lip, other fingers under his chin. “But your being seventeen again makes you brash and reckless. Your body’s adjusting to the sudden tide of hormones, and I don’t want you to make a decision you’ll regret. Especially if this isn’t something you really want.”

“Merlin.”

“I don’t... I don’t want to be your experiment, either,” Merlin says, hesitantly. “I don’t want to be just _that_ shag to you. You mean more to me than that, always have. So I.." 

Arthur cuts him off, cupping Merlin’s cheek. “Merlin. I’ve spent my entire life hesitating, afraid to defy the expectations of me to go after the things I really wanted. I’ve been so careful, toeing lines and following rules. It is precisely because I am reckless now that I have the courage to finally admit and go after something I want.” 

His breath catches. “Arthur—” 

“You,” Arthur says, pushing on, looking stubborn and afraid and brave all at once. “I want you. And not just because you look like a hot professor.” 

“And you were doing so well,” Merlin jokes weakly, but Arthur shushes him.

"Your smile,” Arthur continues. “Your jokes, your ugly lamp. The way you make me laugh. I want all of you, Merlin - I’ve never wanted anything more.” He brushes his hand down the side of Merlin’s arm, turning Merlin’s hand palm up so he can link their fingers together. “And I don’t want it to stop at just this. I’m still gonna take you out to dinner. Get you that fucking pint. Watch another movie with you and then forget about it when we snog and I have my hand down your pants.” 

“So romantic,” Merlin says, raising his eyebrow at that last sentence. 

“What can I say? I have a way with words.” Arthur strokes Merlin’s ears. "I've been thinking about this all evening.” 

“Have you, now?"

“Yeah. Even while you were engrossed in that stupid book.” His fingers grow bolder, brushing down Merlin’s jaw and over the light stubble that’s gathered there to the hollow of Merlin’s neck, exposed with his loose, unbuttoned shirt. “You’re not sleepy now. You know I’m not tired. You know I—” Pulling himself up, Arthur wedges a knee between Merlin’s legs, clenching and unclenching Merlin’s shirt in his other hand, as if unsure whether to yank Merlin closer. “I know what I’m doing. I know what I want.”

“Are you sure?” Merlin teases him, leaning back into the embrace of the soft, massive cushion at his back, letting Arthur steady himself with a palm on Merlin’s chest.

Arthur huffs into Merlin’s shirt, unbuttoning it sneakily and pressing his lips to Merlin’s collarbone. He’s trembling; Merlin strokes his nape to soothe him. “Didn’t realise I had to answer a _quiz_ , Merlin.”

“Don’t have to,” Merlin says, pulling Arthur down and sliding his hands down to Arthur’s waist, holding him there. He tilts his head, just so, so he can murmur right in Arthur’s ear, “What did you want me to do to you?”

He doesn’t expect Arthur to give a full-body shudder when his breath tickles the shell of Arthur’s ear, but Arthur does, with a soft and choked-off moan that goes straight to Merlin’s groin. “I,” Arthur says, fisting the front of Merlin’s shirt again, “Want you to kiss me.”

“That can be arranged,” Merlin says, digging his fingers into Arthur’s hair now, fisting it and tugging gently. His thoughts are now very much rolling in the gutter.

“And I really want your fingers. In me. No one’s ever— I mean.”

“Oh, hell,” Merlin breathes, allowing himself the liberty of reaching down to squeeze that pert, apple arse. “Have you tried? With yourself?”

“Uh.” Arthur ducks his head, so all Merlin can see is a blond mess. “Just one, rarely two. Was good. But it’s different with... yeah.”

“It is.” Merlin kisses Arthur’s eyelids, chuckling to himself. “Fuck. I’m going to bonk someone nearly half my age. This is one for the books.”

Arthur snorts. “Well, _technically..._ ” His fingers slip away from Merlin’s shirt, letting it fall away from Merlin’s chest and stomach as he splays his palm there. “You could crow to people later how you managed to land a pretty young thing despite your age. Bragging rights.”

“I assure you, if my friends find out, they’re going to tease me for being a cradle-robber until I’m old and gray.”

“But think of the recovery time!” Arthur says, grinning, thumbing at Merlin’s nipple. Merlin can’t help arching into it, and Arthur’s grin widens into something a little predatory. “When you have your wicked way with me, we can shag all night.”

“I’d argue, ah, that you’re the one having your wicked way with me right now,” Merlin says, slipping his hands under Arthur’s loose shirt to touch his too-warm skin. “You handsy little brat.”

“Just fucking kiss me,” Arthur straddles him, laughing, pulling at Merlin’s shirt so they’re face to face, their combined weight making the sofa cushion whine and give way beneath them. “You stupid prick—”

Merlin kisses him, just to shut him up.

It’s obvious that Arthur’s used to taking the lead – he dips in aggressively, licking into Merlin’s mouth with a kind of desperate, eager fervor that’s intoxicating. But Merlin can play this game; he deliberately slows their rhythm, drawing his nails gently over Arthur’s nape as he pulls Arthur’s bottom lip between his teeth, flash of tongue there, taking him in slow and deep. 

“You even kiss like a teenager,” Merlin says huskily, before claiming Arthur’s mouth again, sliding his fingers up to fist and yank. If the way Arthur groans and rocks against him is any indication, that’s something he’s quickly growing to like. 

“Is that an insult?” Arthur says, kissing him again and pushing Merlin’s shirt off his shoulders and onto the rug. 

Merlin shakes his head, fond, and moves away when Arthur’s lips chase his so he can mouth at Arthur’s ear. “No. Okay, maybe just a little. It’s just...” He spreads his fingers, sweeps a warm path down Arthur’s spine, rubbing at his tailbone in the familiar way he knows is too firm to be ticklish, but too light and maddening to be ignored. “You’re so fucking eager. Like you’re mad for it. Like you need to be touched.” Arthur’s bucking against him now, breath coming in short gasps, crying out softly when Merlin sucks his earlobe into his mouth. “So sensitive,” he murmurs. “It’s almost like you’ve never...”

“Yeah,” Arthur breathes, tilting his head so Merlin can lick down his neck. “Mm. My ex-girlfriends, they expected me to— ah.” His fingers are tangling in Merlin’s hair now, drawing him closer in a tight embrace as Merlin bites and sucks a bruise on his shoulder. "I initiated, with them. They never really touched me beyond... you know. It was all very safe." 

“Oh, I know." Well, he'll show Arthur what he's been missing – such a shame they'd not wanted to worship him all over, from the furrows in his brow or the edges of his mouth to the hot, wet heat between his legs. To kiss down the tense, rippled line of his arms, to take him apart with filthy words and honeyed tongue. "How’re you liking men, now, then?” Merlin says, smiling into Arthur’s skin, sliding his hand around and over Arthur’s stomach and ribs. 

“You’re brilliant.” Arthur leans down to kiss Merlin’s brow, his cheekbones, fluttering moments until he nips at Merlin’s mouth again before pulling away to abruptly yank his shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere in the direction of the kitchenette. “Better than I thought you’d be.”

“I can still stop now and leave you with blue balls,” Merlin says warningly.

Arthur puts on his most innocent face. Well, as innocent as Arthur can look with kiss-swollen lips and his hair all over the place and a sizeable purple monstrosity on one shoulder. He might bitch about that in the morning, but Merlin can’t be arsed right now. 

“I didn’t say anything after ‘you’re brilliant’,” Arthur says wisely.

He smacks Arthur’s arse, and has the pleasure of seeing Arthur flush red. “Oh, _liked_ that, did you?”

“Who’s the perv, now?” Arthur grips the sofa arm, grinding down against Merlin. “Okay, I have to ask. You’re not really into boys half your age, are you? Because once I’m cured, I’m going to be way out of jailbait range, and I’m never going to be one of those twinky bottoms, so you can just shove that—”

“Fuck, no. You just drive me mad whether you’re seventeen or in your thirties. I’m crazy for you.” Merlin pushes up against him, gritting his teeth at how good it feels, just frotting on his couch like there are two teenagers on it instead of one. “And you were never a twinky bottom. You’ve always been bloody fit, with those thick thighs, just the way I like ‘em...” He lays his hand over the curve of Arthur’s rump, grinning. “This would take my cock so nicely, too.”

Arthur licks his lips, looking up from his lashes at Merlin. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Hey, now. Maybe not tonight.” He smooths a hand slowly up Arthur’s thigh, ignoring Arthur’s dick tenting the front of his trousers. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“All talk and no action,” Arthur mutters, parting his lips when Merlin massages his thigh, pushing forward and back, stroking circles that inch lazily upward. “Yeah, that’s...”

He takes Arthur’s hand in his, brushing over the knuckles, pulling their joined hands up his bare stomach. “Hey,” Merlin says softly, spreading their fingers so they’re palm-to-palm. “Would you like to touch me?”

Arthur nods, scrambling over Merlin to run a hand down his arm, over the angles and lines. “What do you like?” He asks, lips hovering over Merlin’s brow, pressing little kisses down the side of his face and to Merlin’s neck.

“Don’t cheat.” Forgotten hours of hanky-panky as a teenager in the corners of darkened classrooms come rushing back, learning how to coax soft sighs of his name from the lips of girls who taught him how to hold their shoulders, pull their hair, finger them wetly under their skirts – the memories blend abruptly into when Merlin had a man ask him that exact same question, eager and hot in a club, pushing down his pants so Merlin could fuck him against the wall. He wants that with Arthur – wants everything. “Find out yourself.”

“If you insist.” Having gotten the hint, Arthur kisses him again slowly, luxuriously, without any of the frantic urgency he’d showed earlier. He tucks a few errant curls behind Merlin’s ear, tracing the shell before gently rolling them to their sides on the couch and trailing his nails lightly down Merlin’s scalp.

Merlin closes his eyes, lifting Arthur’s chin for a cheeky nibble on that lush lower lip. “That’s nice,” he slurs, relishing the tingle.

“I know,” Arthur says, shooting him a grin before dipping his head to kiss down Merlin’s neck, flicking out his tongue to map a wet trail over the hollows and juts of collarbone. 

“Cheeky bugger.” He digs his fingers into Arthur’s hair too, now, as Arthur noses and mouths at his nipples. “Got a thing for them?”

“Just wondering if they’re sensitive.” When he teases with teeth and tongue, Merlin bucks up against him, sighing when Arthur sucks gently.

Merlin laughs, flicking at Arthur’s ear. He’s _really_ hard now, but he doesn’t want to rush Arthur – for all of Arthur’s bravado, he wants Arthur to take all the time he needs. His cock can wait. “There’s your answer.”

Arthur does take his time; he goes to town – snakes his palms down Merlin’s sides, curving his fingers in for a teasing, scratching touch over Merlin’s shoulders and chest, tonguing at the dip of Merlin’s bellybutton and up until he’s necking Merlin, leaving one side of his neck wet with kisses and tiny hickeys. “I like your body,” Arthur says shyly, into Merlin’s ear, when Merlin can’t see his expression. “You’re lanky, tall – my type of bloke.”

Irrationally, Merlin wants to kick Leon for not divulging this information he probably might not even have had about Arthur, because Merlin would’ve saved what was left of his dignity from his amused colleagues if he’d acted on his pining feelings way before knowing _he’d actually had a chance._ “Am I?”

“Uh-huh. I like them lean,” Arthur whispers into his ear, the sweet wet warmth of it distracting and making Merlin’s toes curl. “Side of cheekbones. Dark hair, blue eyes. Glasses. A bit magic.”

“That’s awfully specific. Sure it’s not just the one bloke?”

“Maybe.” Arthur looks so fucking adorable like this, grinning so stupidly down at Merlin that he can’t help but roll them over again so that he’s the one on top this time.

Merlin pulls Arthur’s arms over his head, silently marveling at the strength in them before gripping Arthur’s wrists together, resting his other hand on Arthur’s hip. “My turn.”

“Oh? What’re you gonna do to me?”

Untying the knot holding Arthur’s trousers up, Merlin pushes them off and around where they catch awkwardly at Arthur’s knees. Arthur helps kick them back to the other side of the couch, gloriously blushing and naked under him. He makes a _very_ pretty addition to Merlin’s couch. Now, if only Merlin could keep him there and naked all the time when they came back from work, or tied to his bed... there’s a thought.

“I have a few tricks,” Merlin says meaningfully, seeing the golden light in his gaze reflected in Arthur’s eyes as he directs ice magic to his fingertips on Arthur’s chest. When Arthur startles, gasping, Merlin pinches his fingers together around Arthur’s nipple, teasing them around the fine hairs there and down Arthur’s happy trail as Arthur’s breath begins to come faster and faster. “You’ll see.”

He can feel the soft thrum of Arthur tensing under him, muscles drawing taut. “Easy, gorgeous.”

“I’m not used to...” Arthur admits, restless, fingers flexing as he lets his limbs fall and spread out on the fabric. “Yielding.”

“It’s all right.” Merlin sweeps palm-wide strokes up and down Arthur’s skin, keeping it to his chest, over his shoulders; safe. “I’ve got you.”

Finally relaxing in quiet surrender, Arthur moans his name softly again and again as Merlin directs warmth to his other hand instead, criss-crossing the whisper-soft paths his fingers make across and over Arthur’s skin, shivering under his touch. “I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” he manages, when Merlin hooks his hands under Arthur’s thighs, holding them up and stroking his thumb down Arthur’s back to the dip above his arse.

“I don’t know, you’ve been managing just fine, haven’t you?” Merlin says, pressing a devious kiss to the warm, sweat-damp curve of hipbone and licking there, resting his chin there to grin up at Arthur.

“I do remember how to exercise _some_ self-control, thank you very much,” Arthur says with as much haughtiness as he seems able to muster, even when he has to bite down on the back of his knuckles when Merlin’s cheek accidentally brushes his cock. He’s still tense, but Merlin coaxes him with soft lips over his skin to distract him, easing him into it.

“Hang on, I’m sure I have a medal for that somewhere...”

Huffing, Arthur kicks Merlin lightly with his heel. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Look who’s talking. Come on.” Merlin taps lightly on one of Arthur’s calves. “Over my shoulders.”

“Mm?” Arthur complies, hooking his ankles behind Merlin’s neck.

“Gonna suck you.” He snakes a hand over to lock it around one of Arthur’s wrists, pushing it down into the soft, coarse fabric. “You vocal?”

There’s a small scratching sound; Merlin turns to see Arthur digging his nails into the couch, laughing breathlessly and with abandon as he looks Merlin dead in the eye. “I think _you_ know the answer to that.”

He can only stare. Fucking little shit. “You knew I was—” Merlin begins, gripping at Arthur’s thigh. “You knew I was there?”

“Not at first,” Arthur says, arching his back when Merlin slides the side of his cheek up Arthur’s dick, turning to breathe hotly against it. “Didn’t hear you. But when I opened my eyes, when I was still,” he takes in a breath, shuddering. “Still wanking, I saw a small light in the reflection off the window glass. And then, as quickly as it’d appeared, it was gone.”

That somehow turns Merlin on even _more_ , knowing Arthur’d figured out he was there, and yet— “And you kept going.”

“Wanted to see what you’d do.” Arthur begins to trash with his other wrist as Merlin moves around his dick to suck at his inner thigh, but Merlin keeps his hand firmly pinned down. “I was curious. Already thought you were really kinda good-looking, in this clumsy, bookish and big-eared sort of way.”

“I didn’t walk away,” Merlin mumbles the confession into Arthur’s skin, dragging his lips up and over the base of Arthur’s cock, tasting the slick. 

Arthur’s quiet but for his breathing as Merlin teases him with little flicks of tongue, thumb gently pushing back the foreskin. “I liked it. Knowing you were watching me.”

And now he can kick all that guilt out of the window. “Did it get you hard?” Merlin whispers, taking a bit of the foreskin into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, that’s good, _ah_ — yes.”

“Got off on it?” Merlin rubs his thumb over the head, getting the slick all over his fingers.

“Yeah, couldn’t hear you, but I,” Arthur groans, heartfelt, when Merlin finally closes his lips over Arthur’s cockhead. “Imagined you, mm, touching yourself. Watching me.”

He squeezes Arthur’s hand as he takes more of him inside his mouth, steadily, looking up at Arthur hazily without faltering in his slow, deep swallowing. Arthur whimpers when Merlin holds him there, stroking him absently with the flat of his tongue before pulling off, replacing his mouth with the firm grip of his hand. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Can’t help it,” Arthur says breathlessly, covering his eyes with his arm as he pants, bucking into Merlin’s fist, the dark, angry head of his cock emerging obscenely with every thrust upward. “It’s your fault, anyway. I’d been feeling so lost, like I was lying to myself about everything. My father, Morgana, myself. And then you came along and magicked me into a younger version of myself, making me _like_ you — so, yes, your fault.”

“I beg your pardon,” Merlin says, twisting his grip and swirling his tongue just under the head. “I assure you any perversions you harbour are entirely your own. Like your little penchant for exhibitionism.”

“You utter wanker.” Arthur tightens their linked fingers, digging his nails into Merlin’s skin as his ankles slip from where they’re crossed. “Merlin, I’m—”

That’s all he gets before Arthur’s coming, streaking his cheek and lips. A bit of it lands in his eye, and he curses while Arthur chuckles. That quickly segues into an “ _Oy!”_ of protest when Merlin reaches blindly for Arthur’s trousers to wipe at his face before leaning forward to take Arthur’s pulsing cock in his mouth again. He strokes and milks him, swallowing what he still can. “Give a bloke a warning,” Merlin says softly, clearing his throat and wincing at how hoarse he sounds. “I like to swallow.”

Arthur blinks sleepily at him, stroking his fingers over Merlin’s open palm. “That’s... really not what usually follows that first sentence.”

“Well, I do. I’d also like to get come all over you, but I like to swallow more.” Merlin rubs at his chin where a bit of Arthur’s come caught on his stubble, and licks it off his thumb deliberately while winking at Arthur. “Aww, not going to fall asleep on me now, are you?”

“You wish.” Arthur pulls Merlin up towards him, kissing him without hesitation. “You’ll let me return the favour?”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” Merlin murmurs against Arthur’s mouth, smiling, whispering a spell as he deliberately nudges Arthur’s legs apart, sliding his now slick-coated fingers between them. His smile widens when Arthur’s breath catches. “All night, you said. On your knees.”

“I want to suck you, too.” Arthur sounds mournful, but he turns around eagerly enough that Merlin know he’s not _too_ sorry about forgoing that for getting fingered within an inch of his life. It’s a nice change from his shyness earlier; it warms Merlin that Arthur trusts him enough like this, to share this aspect of his desires with him so openly now. “Yours looks long enough for me to choke on.”

Merlin nearly does a double-take. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’ve really wanted to try giving blow jobs, all right,” Arthur says with feeling, gripping onto the arm rest with both hands, his back curving into a lovely, muscular arc when he spreads himself for Merlin. Artists would weep with joy at the opportunity of getting that on paper, or in the perfect angle of a sculpture – but no, Merlin’s just going to debauch that so thoroughly, he’s going to feel vaguely guilty about it in the morning. Vaguely. “It seems really different from giving head to women.”

“You don’t say,” Merlin says, amused, parting Arthur’s cheeks with one hand to expose his hole. Even Arthur’s balls look tempting like this, begging to be teased and played with until he’s writhing for more, but he’s just going to keep his eyes on the pucker of his prize. He plays with the rim for a bit, repeating the spell again to drip more oil over Arthur’s quivering arse until it’s dripping with it. “Well, doesn’t this make a pretty picture.”

“Are you going to do something, or do you just want to admire my arse all night?” His fists are clenching and unclenching nervously when he looks at Merlin over his shoulder, betraying his casual tone. 

“Oh, I don’t know, it _is_ a very nice arse.” He’s fantasised about this so many times, in so many different ways. It’s all a bit overwhelming now that he can actually touch and taste and _feel_. The scrutiny doesn’t seem to shake Arthur – on the contrary, he’s getting hard again, dick hanging hard and heavy as Merlin just teases his tip of his finger in. “You’re tense. Just relax.”

Arthur’s shoulders shake when he laughs, exhaling. “I feel like I’m at a massage parlour.”

“A _dirty_ massage parlour?” Merlin suggests, pressing his lips to just above Arthur’s thighs and exploring the other meaning of kissing his superior’s arse. “Trust me. It’ll feel good.”

“That’s not helping with the image,” Arthur says, but he buries his face in a cushion with a muffled moan when Merlin works his finger in, sliding his other hand around Arthur’s legs to tug lightly at his cock. “Yeah.”

“All right?”

Arthur pushes back against him in answer. “God, that’s—”

“Easy,” Merlin murmurs, steadying him, turning his palm around to crook his finger this way and that. “Think you can take another?”

“I...” Arthur swallows audibly, reaching down to touch himself, fingers brushing over Merlin’s on his cock as he strokes. “Please.”

“It’ll be better.” His fingers are already coated with oil and slick, so it’s easier to slide the second finger in beside the first than he expects. “Fuller.” Merlin strokes up and down Arthur’s back, gentling him, pushing him down into the cushion as he screws both fingers in, twisting them, drawing little breathless gasps from Arthur. “Moan for me,” he says, covering Arthur’s fingers and pushing their hands together as they stroke Arthur’s cock. “The way you did that night.”

“You’ll have to make me,” Arthur says, clutching onto the arm rest for dear life.

He scissors his fingers inside, drawing out another long, cut-off moan from Arthur. “That can be arranged,” Merlin murmurs, adjusting Arthur’s knees and shifting his body so he’s lying underneath Arthur, legs splayed inside the frame of Arthur’s arms and elbows. He takes himself in hand, nudging his cock towards Arthur’s mouth. “Still want to choke on my cock?”

Arthur licks his lips, breathing over Merlin’s cock. “You have no idea.”

“Go on, then,” Merlin says. “Be my guest.”

“I must commend you for your hospitality,” Arthur says, before giving a tentative lick to the head. “You’ll... tell me if I’m doing something wrong?”

“No teeth. Please. But otherwise, I’ll like anything you do.” He rubs his thumb over Arthur’s arm. “Honest. It’s you I want.”

Arthur kisses Merlin’s thigh, almost tenderly. “And I you.”

Merlin smiles. “Works for me.”

They get lost in the heat that gathers between them, in the little movements as Arthur sucks him, clumsy and unsure, moaning softly around Merlin’s cock. Merlin opens him up, two fingers becoming three as Arthur practically writhes and arches his back, coming again when Merlin pumps his fingers into Arthur, magicking a little jolt of electricity that runs between them both. 

“I wonder how many times I can make you come,” Merlin says, nuzzling Arthur’s neck and batting an inquisitive hand off him. He pulls Arthur back against him so his back is flush against Merlin’s chest, arse against the hot brand of Merlin’s still-hard length.

Arthur parts his legs as Merlin starts playing with his hole again, reaching behind him to pull Merlin over his shoulder for a kiss, messy and eager with it. “Let’s find out.”

* * *

Surprisingly, it’s Merlin who wakes first. At a little past eleven, which he isn’t _too_ proud of, but it’s the first time in days he’s gotten up before Arthur who has his face down in the pillows and snoring softly, sheets tangled around his naked legs. And no wonder – they’d stumbled off the sofa after the third time the night before, Arthur pulling Merlin towards his room and toppling him bodily onto his bed before taking Merlin in his mouth again, determined to practice and get more of Merlin’s cock down his throat.

He’s created a sex fiend. Merlin has to resist biting that arse as he swings his legs over to get out of bed, knocking them against the bedpost yet again and shaking his head at himself as he hops, one-legged, to the toilet.

“Mornin’,” Arthur says sleepily from the bed when Merlin’s pulled a shirt on, rummaging ineffectually through his closet for any kind of scarf that would cover the evidence of him being mauled by an oversexed blond teenager’s teeth and tongue.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He can’t resist; he sits down on the bed again, resting his elbow on the mattress as he cups Arthur’s cheek. “How’re you feeling?”

Arthur turns his lips into Merlin’s palms, licking at the skin there. When he looks up at Merlin, he angles it deliberately so he’s giving him the soulful wide-eyed gaze of an ingenue beneath artfully lit eyelashes reflecting off the morning light. Bastard. “Good,” he drawls, mouthing up to Merlin’s thumb now. “A little sore.”

“Are you?” He should feel bad, but Arthur had begged him for more, had made him fingerfuck him until he was shaking and moaning in his lap, his cock painting a wet, slick mess over Merlin’s stomach as he rode Merlin’s fingers like his life depended on it for what felt like hours. “I don’t think you were complaining last night.”

“Who says I’m complaining now?”

Merlin snorts. “So much for not being used to giving in. You were still bossing me around and telling me how to fuck you.”

Pushing himself up, Arthur cups Merlin’s face, letting their foreheads bump together. “Do I need to compare our business cards to remind you who’s really in charge?”

“Pulling the superior card so early when you haven’t taken me for dinner yet? For shame.”

“I told you I will.” He drops his arms to snake them around Merlin’s waist, sheets falling away from him so he’s all warm skin against the thin cotton of Merlin’s shirt. It’s comfortable and familiar, being so close to someone, and it’s even better that it’s Arthur. Natural, almost. Merlin rests his chin on Arthur’s shoulder, turning to nose at his ear. “Thank you for last night.”

“How transactional,” Merlin says, laughing, running his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “I enjoyed it. You’re better than I thought, too.”

“Now you’re just being petty,” Arthur declares, biting gently at Merlin’s jaw. 

“Oh, take a compliment, you brat.”

“You won’t be able to call me that for long.” Curious, knowing fingers skating up his back, under the loose cover of his shirt, and Merlin has to resist arching serpentine at the contact. “And when I’ve recovered, I’m going to make you do everything you did with me last night all over again.”

Merlin has to roll his eyes when he moves on the bed and feels Arthur’s erection poking at his thigh. “Demanding. Also, really? We’re going to be late.”

“Well...” Arthur slides out of bed, artlessly unfolding himself from the awkward trappings of Merlin’s arms and the tousled sheets combined, stretching. The way his dick bobs as he bounces on the balls of his feet would be hilarious if not for how much the sight of it and the dark nest of curls under it makes Merlin’s mouth water. And if that’s not enough, the little devil spawn turns around to give Merlin a contemplative look. “You have a shower. Ever heard of killing two birds with one stone?”

Merlin shucks his clothes off in record time, yanking a helplessly laughing Arthur into his bathroom and dragging the shower curtain across with a loud screech as he flips the hot water on. “You insatiable — fucking — you really _will_ be the death of me.”

“Says the man who’s agreeing to save water with me, hem, hem,” Arthur says, closing his eyes as the steam wafts up around them and closing his hand like a vice around Merlin’s cock. “I’ll do you if you do me.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Merlin pulls Arthur closer, thunking his head back against the wall as the water runs. “All right, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

“You’ll find I’m a quick learner,” Arthur says, tugging him with slow, unfamiliar strokes, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Sir.”

Fucking hell.

* * *

“Ow.”

Merlin cricks his neck hidden by swaddles of blue and green as the luxurious sliding doors to _Kiss of the Fay_ ’s sweeping expanse of a lobby. It’s all beige leather and lace over the walls, tasteful golden ivy draped around an assortment of framed photographs of a beaming Morgana and her team of cosmetics geniuses who’ve taken the beauty industry by storm since she convinced them to leave Pendragon Pharmaceuticals with her. 

“Been a while?” Arthur has an obnoxious spring in his step, hands nestled nicely in his pockets with his own dark turtleneck covering up any incriminating welts.

“That’s not,” Merlin begins, flushing, fidgeting with his scarf. Freya made it for him two Christmases ago when she’d taken up knitting on a whim, although Gwaine’s been receiving more of her ‘experiments’ as of late. With all her attempts at vests and sweaters, she’s probably going to reknit his entire wardrobe. “I don’t, um. Usually stay up all night these days. And I’m not used to...”

Arthur nods, looking almost sagely if not for the little twinkle in his eye. “Physical exertion?”

Merlin glares at him. “Physical exertion.”

“Nothing for it,” Arthur says cheerfully, taking out a pair of dark glasses from inside his coat as he turns around smartly on his heel to wink at Merlin. “I hear practicing helps one build up stamina.”

“Stamina is hardly the issue,” Merlin says casually out of the corner of his mouth as Arthur slides the dark frames over the bridge of his nose. The receptionist looks up at their whispered exchange, raising an eyebrow at their bickering behind a massive rotating vase of flowers.

“But I was doing all the work,” comes the equally casual reply, between Arthur clearing his throat and attempting to make his voice sound deeper, his back to the suspicious receptionist. “If you need a reminder...”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin purposely nudges Arthur’s glasses down so it nearly falls off his nose. “Unlike you, I don’t need to prove a point. Didn’t you say Morgana hates people being tardy?”

“Yes, which is rich given how fashionably late she’s been on some occasions. Half an hour? Ridiculous. We’re only—” he checks his too-loose Rolex, “two minutes late.” Donning his most winning smile, he turns to the receptionist, who’s suddenly looking a lot friendlier when she takes in the cumulative net worth of the brands Arthur’s displaying all over his outfit. “Good afternoon. Miss Le Fay is expecting me.”

“Welcome to Kiss of the Fay’s corporate headquarters. Please wait a moment.” She coughs delicately while pressing a combination of buttons on her phone, switching it to speaker mode and shooting incredulous glances at Arthur’s rings. “Miss Le Fay, you have a—”

A cool voice answers, “Send him up to my office,” before the line goes dead.

“Friendly,” Merlin observes, as the cowed receptionist leans over the counter to gesture towards the lifts. “Also, Le Fay?”

Arthur snorts. “When she’s not preening and having everyone fawning over her, she terrifies them. And... I understand that’s what she’s going by, now. Shirked the Pendragon name and took her mother’s.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, Arthur holds the lift doors open, tilting his head for Merlin to step out first. “It hurt, but what’s done is done. I just don’t want us to be strangers. We’ve too much history in our family for her to want to cut ties just like that, just because...”

“Of the magic.”

Arthur takes Merlin’s hand briefly and squeezes it before letting go. “Yes. I know now what it can do, that it’s not the abomination my father believes it is. Just because I survived the magical conception and my mother didn’t.”

Merlin hesitates, but rings the small bell outside Morgana’s door. “But even when they first started implementing that in practice, they needed the consent of both parents-to-be. Your mother couldn’t have gone through with it on her own.”

“My father suggested it.” Arthur turns away, looking at a photograph of Morgana on the wall, resplendent in royal washes of purple and receiving an award on behalf of her company. “And as with procedures or operations, magical or not, sometimes not everyone escapes unscathed.”

“No,” Merlin says softly, thinking of a childhood with only stories to remember his father by. “Not everyone.”

Palm resting on the wall just next to another picture of a smiling Morgana, looking happier than Merlin’s ever seen her in whatever pictures they have left of her at Pendragon Pharmaceuticals, Arthur stills. “Who was it?”

He clasps his hands behind his back, toying with the edges of his sleeve as Arthur stays where he is, profile sharp and young in the natural light streaming through the glass. “My father was in the dragon cavalry, my mam said. Didn’t survive the injuries from his incarceration when he was off fighting for a war, oh, three or four countries over. Not even with all the money she paid for a magical surgery.”

“You turned out all right. She must have been a hell of a lady.”

“Still is. And so did you.” Merlin places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, sliding it down to smooth over the cloth on his back. “Just all right?” He adds, teasingly, to lighten the heavy air around them.

“I suppose I could put up with you,” Arthur says, turning around so his ear brushes Merlin’s cheek, “beyond office hours.”

“What a compliment,” Merlin says dryly, taking a few steps back, fingers slipping away from where they’d rested on Arthur’s hip. “I think I hear high heels.”

Arthur moves smartly to the side in the same moment, standing up straighter just as the frosted glass door opens and Morgana steps through, looking even more fiery and compelling than she did in all the pictures that Merlin’s seen of her combined, straight hair dancing down her back as she walks towards them. 

“You’re late.”

“Hello to you, too,” Arthur says mildly, folding his arms, squaring his shoulders. He draws himself to his full height, lets his jacket fall over his frame to hide his —well — condition. “You kept us waiting, anyway.” 

They couldn’t be more different in appearance. Morgana is dark and fair where Arthur is shades of gold and bronze, but they carry themselves the same way – the same relaxed confidence with tinges of wariness, as if they’re always on guard. Arthur less so, now, but noting the way Morgana snaps to attention when she sees Merlin brings the differences between the Arthur of the past and now into sharp relief; he remembers the locked jaw, the vigilance, the walls he’d built around himself.

It’s all reflected in Morgana; now that Merlin knows what to look for, he sees the quick flash of loneliness, of hope, before it’s swiftly crushed under the steel of her gaze. “You haven’t changed one bit,” Morgana says, perfect scarlet nails tapping against the frosted glass, her eyebrows raised and skeptical at Merlin. “Just like the good old times when you couldn't even go to the bathroom alone at night, eh, baby brother? Who’s this?”

“ _Morgana._ ”

“No? Did you bully someone into being your personal coat hanger again, then?”

“One time in university,” Arthur sighs, “one time.” Seeing them like this, Merlin can almost forget the reason they’re here and the simmering, unspoken past between the two.

“Merlin Emrys,” Merlin says quickly, holding out a hand and giving Arthur a warning look when Arthur opens his mouth again because he can make his own introductions, thank you. “Head of the Magical Research and Development Department at Pendragon Pharmaceuticals.”

Morgana clasps his hand tightly, giving him an appraising once-over and a polished, businesswoman’s smile that barely masks her surprise. “Charmed. Magical R&D, you said?”

“Yes. Arthur hired me.” He steps back, looking at his boss, who just shrugs uncomfortably like he doesn’t know what to do with the acknowledgment of the massive gesture he pulled to indirectly set his supportive stance towards magic in stone. For Morgana, really, even if he won’t admit it to her face. “He was the one who established the department, and I built it from the ground up after with his supervision.”

“Moving with the times.” Morgana lets a discreet jolt of electricity run between their fingertips like a test as they pull their hands away, but not before Merlin answers with one of his own. Having taken and validated her magical measure of him, she folds her arms and nods, satisfied, before tilting her head at Arthur, no doubt realising now just how much of an olive branch he’s extending. “Come on in, then, and take off your sunglasses. I know you’re not one for manners, but that’s terrible even by your standards.”

Coughing, Arthur pulls his glasses off. “Yes, about that...”

To Morgana’s credit, she stares at his face for only a few seconds before she breaks the tension in the room, dissolving into helpless peals of laughter while leaning against the door for support. “It’s like high school all over again!”

Merlin has to fight back a smile when Arthur sighs, long-suffering — this is a lot better than he imagined it would turn out. “Well, rather, but no acne.”

“Got cursed by an employee who’d finally had enough of you, did you?”

Arthur glowers at Merlin. “In a manner of speaking.”

“I didn't mean to," Merlin says loudly, noting the subtle shaking of Arthur's head. They would've had to go without glamours to meet Morgana because someone of her calibre would've detected a spell on Arthur like that immediately, arousing unnecessary suspicion when all Arthur wanted was a step towards reconciliation. Still, it's best they don't reveal anything about the circumstances of Arthur's rewound years lest word get out in Morgana's company by accident.

Morgana wipes a tear out of the corner of her eye, letting out a final wheeze. She pushes a lock behind her ear and opens her mouth, smiling, but that fades abruptly as she meets Arthur’s hopeful, expectant gaze. “Nice of you to drop by,” she says quietly, looking away from the both of them. “But don’t expect me to give you a free pass on everything that’s happened just because you brought someone magical into Pendragon’s.”

“Of course it doesn’t make everything okay,” Arthur starts, walking towards her, only stopping when she flinches, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. Merlin steps back into the background, silent; he’s no part of this, no part of this careful exchange between two people whose hurt and fear of rejection are written all over both their faces, if only they would see. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything to you. One single gesture isn’t going to — right the wrongs we did.” 

“Oh, good. At least you realised that.” She walks over to her desk, trailing a single finger down the long, curved neck of her steel, minimalist lamp. “Have you any idea what it’s been like for me? To be rejected by your own kin like that?”

“Father was wrong,” Arthur says quietly, dropping his hands to his sides. “As was I. But we can’t just erase years of our childhood and growing up together. Of family. I can’t speak for him, but I don’t want to lose my sister.”

“Your favourite sister?” She says, with a sad smile.

“My only sister.”

The afternoon light framing Morgana’s silhouette makes it hard to see her expression from where she’s standing, but after a few minutes, she sits on her desk and crosses her legs. “You were always the sentimental one,” Morgana says eventually. “But how do we go back from this?” She spreads her arms out in front of her, a sweeping motion around her office. “I won’t return, you know that. Some things don’t go away, Arthur.” 

“I know.”

When her fingers unfurl from a clenched fist before her, a golden rose of light blossoms in her palm. “My _magic_ won’t go away.” She searches Arthur’s face, desperate, her green eyes so different from Arthur’s wide and wild. “Do you understand?”

Arthur takes a deep breath. “I do.”

The two siblings just look at each other, unmoving. Swallowing, Merlin yanks out his phone — the sudden movement makes Arthur’s eyes snap to him, and he gives him an encouraging smile. “I, um, have to make a call,” he says, giving no indication he’d registered the last few minutes of conversation. Clearing his throat, Merlin shakes his head at Arthur, who mouths his name, looking flustered and a little betrayed. He’ll thank Merlin later; the Pendragons need their own space to sort things out, and this is strictly between the siblings. “I’ll leave you in Morgana’s capable hands.”

“Thank you.” She says it so quietly Merlin almost doesn’t hear it on his way out, but he stops briefly in his steps when he does, nodding once before closing the door behind him.

He wasn’t half-lying when he said he did need to make a call — just to check up on Freya and Gwaine’s progress on the cure — but reagents and results are the last thing on his mind as he watches Arthur and Morgana pace and throw their hands up behind the frosted glass, voices escalating every now and then. 

Merlin eventually tears his eyes away. Arthur’s wanted to make things right between him and Morgana for a long time. If there’s one thing he’s learned about Arthur after all this, it’s that he never gives up once he’s set his sights on something; he’ll make it work, and Merlin will be there for him when he does. Well, if — as long as Arthur needs him.

“Tomorrow or the day after?” He puts his phone to the other ear and tucks a hand in his pocket, deliberately moving his back to the door when he hears a soft beep and the tell-tale sound of two people stepping through. “And you’re absolutely sure?”

“Yes, sir,” is Freya’s answer. For all her teasing and humour when she talks to him in person, her professionalism is impeccable over the phone. “I will be staying at the lab tonight to monitor the final stage. Once it's confirmed, I’ll send you an e-mail immediately.”

“All right. Looking forward.” When he turns around, he sees Arthur walking towards him, smiling. A little sad, but smiling. “Hello, sir.”

“Hello, yourself,” Arthur says, holding Merlin’s arm briefly as if for support before slipping away. “Thank you for waiting.”

“It was lovely making your acquaintance, Merlin,” Morgana says from behind Arthur, taking Merlin’s hands and clasping it between hers. His magic senses hers in her fingertips; she's calm, now, at ease, compared to the beginnings of distress she'd hidden so well earlier. “And you should be careful of this scoundrel, he’s left a trail of broken hearts behind him since university. You deserve better, anyway.” Merlin has to wonder if Arthur's mentioned anything, or if he's really that obvious.

“Hey,” Arthur objects. “You’re one to talk. Leon still talks dejectedly about you when we give him too much gin.”

They both laugh while Merlin’s heart sinks, his phone feeling heavy in his pocket. Who’s to say that he won’t be contributing to said trail of broken hearts once the cure’s synthesised? Arthur could change his mind about them. About Merlin.

“You’ve changed,” Morgana says in that contradictory tone that he’s used to hearing from Arthur, somewhere between grudging acknowledgment and the gruff approval of someone who’s not used to complimenting or saying what they mean. “

“As have you.”

Morgana gives this some thought. “I’m happier.”

“I...” Arthur begins, trailing off. “You know, I think I am, too. Getting stuck with this temporary—” He waves down at himself. “—uh, condition felt like a sign, of sorts. That it was time to take some steps and change things for myself where I’ve always been resistant.”

“You were always under father’s thumb, Arthur,” Morgana says, and even if the words sound harsh, she looks sad. “Everything you did, you did for him.”

“I did them for myself too,” Arthur says, squaring his shoulders. “But I won’t deny it. I wanted to make him proud.”

“Don’t you know?” Morgana sweeps her arm over his back, pulling Arthur near for a loose, familiar embrace. “He always has been. Of you. The golden child.”

“Oh, please. He let you get away with murder.” Arthur hugs her back tightly, and Merlin wonders how growing up with siblings must be like in the Pendragon triumvirate of their household. Three strong, powerful personalities finally clashing because of Morgana’s magic, a family that was dysfunctional to begin with pulling away from each other at the last. At least, until now. “You crazy bint.”

There’s a suspicious sniffle, and then Morgana pushes Arthur away with hands to his shoulders. “Don’t speak of him to me.”

Arthur picks up his jacket, pushing his hands through the sleeves. “I know what he said to you that night is hard to forgive. But if you think we’ve changed – you, from the girl who finally found it in her to start anew, and me, being brave enough now to accept parts of myself I wouldn’t have before – then you should know he has, too.” He jabs a thumb on the lift’s buttons, tucking his hands in his pocket to look back at Morgana just as the numbers start rolling. 

“You’ll forgive me if I have my reservations,” she drawls, folding her arms again when the lift doors open and Arthur and Merlin walk into it, Arthur’s hand on the small of Merlin’s back like he’s reassuring Merlin, except Merlin really knows it’s the other way around. “It’s been over thirty years.”

Arthur just smiles. “You might be surprised.”

When the doors shut on Morgana’s stunned expression, he leans his head against Merlin’s shoulder and laughs for a good few minutes — “The look on her _face!_ ” — before briefly pressing their palms together right when the lift reaches the lobby.

“Can't believe you left me alone with her, you arse,” Arthur grumbles into Merlin’s ear.

"She terrify you when you were younger?" Merlin says, but his heart isn't in it.

Arthur doesn't pick up on it. "Shut up."

"I'm making a note of this in the next employee survey report. Sir."

"I have my own choice comments about my insubordinate heads."

Their time is running out. Merlin puts on his best smile, hoping it reaches his eyes. "I'm pretty chummy with Lancelot, you know. He'll hear my side of the story about my bully of a boss."

"Lies, all of them," Arthur says, giving Merlin a quick grin and tugging on Merlin's sleeve to pull him closer as they walk.

Glancing around them, Merlin takes a deep breath and holds Arthur's hand. "Let's cook tonight, Arthur. How do you feel about lasagne?"

Surprised, Arthur doesn't pull his hand away, but tucks their joined hands in his pocket instead. "I — well, I love it. Sure it's not easier to just get takeout?"

"Not sure when I'll get the chance to boss you around in the kitchen again," Merlin says, and he's only half-joking.

"All right," Arthur replies, laughing. "Fine. Can we have soup with it? Only I always have soup with lasagne."

"You are so high-maintenance," Merlin says, scoffing, and gets cuffed around the head for it. "Ow!"

"Are you going to stand around complaining all day or are you going to actually get some shopping done?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

Arthur leers. "You will be."

"Oh, for fuck's—"

“You like it.”

* * *

Twenty minutes to midnight, and Merlin’s pressing light kisses to the back of Arthur’s neck with his eyes screwed shut in the dim light of his room. If he goes slowly enough, he can almost forget the call he’s reluctantly waiting for.

“That feels nice,” Arthur says sleepily, taking Merlin’s hand to his lips and nuzzling at the knuckles. “Oh, and thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”

“Remembered your manners three hours after you devoured the lion’s share?” Merlin wraps his other arm more tightly around Arthur’s middle, sighing to himself. “You helped, though. Even if we did have to scrape bits of tomatoes off the microwave.”

“The buggers are too slippery for the chopping board!”

“As you say,” Merlin murmurs, pulling back some of Arthur’s hair to expose his nape, dragging his teeth there.

Arthur exhales sharply, neck going tense in anticipation. “Merlin?”

“Want to mark you.” He laves over the spot with his lips, painting a small, hidden bruise that only the both of them will know. “Here, I...”

Shuddering, Arthur covers Merlin’s hand with his own, sliding them over his shirt and down his stomach. “Property, am I?”

“No,” Merlin says, slipping his hand away from Arthur’s to dip his fingers under Arthur’s waistband. “Just mine.” At least, for tonight, Arthur is still Merlin’s; but a part of Merlin will always be Arthur’s, after this.

Of course, because Freya’s always known when to troll him, that’s the exact moment she calls him. 

“I need to get that.” Sighing, Merlin reaches absently for his phone, letting Arthur rest on his shoulder, chuckling at the interruption. “Yes.”

“The cure can be ready by tomorrow afternoon, sir.”

“Thank you,” Merlin says crisply, about to hang up, when Freya cuts in.

“Are you all right?”

Merlin pauses. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You sound...”

She’s always been more perceptive than he’s given her credit for. “It’s nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

“Mer—”

He hangs up.

“That was a late call,” Arthur says. “Work?”

“You know how my boss is like.” Merlin kisses his forehead, trying to smile. “Making me work overtime.”

“Don’t make up things like that to Lancelot, he’ll have my hide.” The bed dips as Arthur sits up on his elbow, looking at Merlin. “What was that about?”

“Um.” He hesitates, gripping his phone tightly. “The cure is ready.”

That takes a few beats to sink in for Arthur, and then he’s cheering. “That’s great news!” Arthur says, flopping over on his back and stretching out. “About time. I never thought I’d actually miss going out for a pint, and I don’t even like going out to bars all that much. I need to get back to work, sort out that mountain of documents and forms I need to sign—”

Something gives out in Merlin’s chest, and he can only look on helplessly as Arthur continues ticking off the various tasks he needs to complete and meetings he’ll need to attend in the following week once everything goes back to normal. 

Merlin feels like he should say something, anything, but the words are caught in the back of his throat. Arthur had wanted more with Merlin, he’d said. But that was then, back when the reality of having the cure was still out of reach.

He doesn’t want this – whatever this is he has with Arthur – to end. Not like this.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Arthur says, and Merlin starts, realising that Arthur’s shifted to his side to look at him. “That’s credit to your team, you know, that they managed to develop the cure by the estimated date with your guidance.”

Merlin swallows. “Yeah. I’m proud of them. And happy for you.”

Arthur studies him. “So what’s the matter?”

“It’s just... what you said.” The backlight throws Arthur’s seventeen-year-old features into stark relief, reminding Merlin of the last few weeks and how unlikely anything like this between them would’ve happened if not for the reason staring back at him. Merlin thinks, selfishly, that he wouldn’t want it any other way. “I’ve been thinking. You might feel differently about this when you’re cured. You’re a different person, you know? An adult with significant power and standing, with an entirely different life than just having messy lasagne with me in a tiny flat.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, gripping at the fraying edges of Merlin’s shirt. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not sure that I belong there,” he admits, looking down at the bed and ignoring Arthur’s eyes boring into the side of his head. “In the life of Arthur Pendragon, the man in line to become the next CEO of Pendragon Pharmaceuticals, multinational conglomerate with offices all over the world – you can do anything you want. Have anyone you want.”

“Don’t say that.” Firm and gentle, Arthur cups his cheek, moving in so they’re face to face. “Don’t.”

“I don’t think I’m good enough,” Merlin blurts. “I’m just out of place. The scholarship kid with a high-paying gig under you, a nerd who’s never really been good at fitting in. I’ll spill champagne on someone really important at one of your fancy parties, and then the press will have a field day. Or something. It’s just such a terrible idea.”

“Doesn’t seem like so long ago you thought _my_ face was a terrible idea,” Arthur jokes, pulling Merlin towards him now in his arms. Even through the haze of angst and self-doubt, Merlin can’t help admiring Arthur’s biceps, giving himself a mental slap in the face. “Or have you forgotten?”

“What, the time I yelled at you when Gwen was there?” It’s a little pathetic how much he’s stoking the hope he’s feeling, but maybe, just maybe— “That was a lie, by the way. Your face was only a terrible idea because of how fucking pretty it was. You prick.”

“And that’s my fault?” He can practically _feel_ Arthur smirking against his forehead before kissing his brow, tickling his lashes.

“Well, obviously.” They’ve gotten carried away with the bickering again. If Merlin didn’t know better, he’d have thought they’ve been doing this for years – even if he’s actually been mostly terrified of Arthur until that fucking Elixir du Avalon pitch that started this whole mess. It took him a good few days to shake himself off the notion that he could actually joke around and talk normally with Arthur the teenager, let alone _flirt_ with him. “This probably wouldn’t have happened if not for the accident. I would never have had the courage to tell you how I felt.” All this before he got to know Arthur better, too. He’d thought he’d been infatuated before, but this? An entirely different thing altogether.

“You foolish man. I know who I am, Merlin. I don’t — won’t feel any different.” Merlin closes his eyes when Arthur touches him all over his face; tremulous, tender. It’s almost overwhelming. “This won’t change. I want to try this with you, Merlin. Now, after, and then some.”

“Arthur.”

“You’re different from anyone else I’ve ever met,” Arthur says. “Even when you were intimidated by me, you were never afraid to stand up for what you believed in. For what was right. When you stood up for your staff and took responsibility, or even that _other_ time we had that shouting match and you accused me of pushing you too hard for a project—“

“I was right then, though,”Merlin mutters, and Arthur just laughs.

“Hate to admit it, but yes. And I was wrong. It took you to make me see it, how I was directing all that anger towards myself over Morgana leaving and lashing out at you and the team instead, trying to prove a point to Uther. My father. To make him see _he_ was wrong for driving her away. And in the process, I was blinded.”

Merlin never made that connection between that harrowing week and Morgana’s resignation. He’d only known he’d been exhausted, and no matter how much he’d wanted to do his best for Arthur, enough had been enough; he’d put his foot down. 

He didn’t understand why Arthur had been so stricken when Merlin had called him out on it. He does now. “But you saw reason.”

“I’m not unreasonable. It was then I knew that you were different. No one pushed me the way you did, not until you came in. And I’m a better person for it. I don’t know how I didn’t see it, but,” Arthur says, “maybe I was already drawn to you then.”

Come to think of it, Arthur had supervised his work more closely after that. “So you just hung around me like a creeper?” Merlin jokes weakly.

“No, I was just… you’d made me curious. And you were good at your work, actually, when you weren’t tripping over yourself and breaking things in the lab.”

“Surely not that often.” Totally that often.

“Often enough. And, who’d have thought? You turn out to be more brilliant than what I’d given you credit for. How you managed this entire debacle, offering to take responsibility, letting me stay at yours—“

“About that.” Merlin coughs. “I have to admit not all the reasons were so noble.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“It’s not like I expected anything to happen.” Between the havoc of being more directly involved with the synthesis of the cure at the start and keeping things under wraps, Merlin honestly hadn’t given it much thought. “I didn’t mind you staying here, not at all. I did want to take responsibility. But I liked the idea of spending some time with you, too; to get to know you better.”

Arthur rubs a thumb over the light stubble on Merlin’s chin. “And did you?”

“I sure did.” It feels like his heart is bursting in his chest, the way Arthur’s looking at him, all flyaway strands of hair and sleepy blue eyes. “You’re gorgeous, you know,” Merlin says, feeling like he simply must. “I thought you should know that.”

Arthur’s smile falters; Merlin can feel Arthur stilling, resting an open palm against his chest, pushing himself away so the small pocket of heat dissipates from between them. “You’re not the only one worried about how things will change after this.”

“Didn’t you spend the last ten minutes persuading me,” Merlin begins, slightly indignant, stopping when Arthur shakes his head.

“I know what I feel. It’s not going away. But this—” Arthur rolls back on his side, gesturing down at himself. “I’m not talking about aging physically. I’m a different person as an adult, with different responsibilities. It doesn’t mean I can’t be with you. I just can’t be who I was the last few weeks when it’s business as usual.”

“You really won’t have anything to worry about. You’ll still be a big-headed, entitled little—” And that’s when Arthur manages the impressive manouevre of throwing a small pillow right in Merlin’s face out of nowhere. Bloody athletic types. “Ow. My point exactly.”

“Real talk, Merlin,” Arthur says, covering Merlin’s mouth with his palm, sighing. “I won’t be the boy you fell in love with. You realise that?”

Merlin licks Arthur’s palm, which under different circumstances could’ve been erotic, but has the immediate unsexy effect of making him yelp and pulling it away like his hand’s been burned. “Keep going, and _then_ I’ll tell you how much of an idiot you are for thinking that.”

Arthur scowls, but there’s a hint of a smile to it. “How did you go from ‘Yes, Mr. Pendragon, sir’ and ‘Understood, Mr. Pendragon, right away’ to this in a little under a month? When I said we could be on a first-name basis, this kind of insubordination wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“I would’ve kept to that line, but then you went and flirted with me as though it was your new fun thing to do.” Merlin had had his reservations, honest. “And we are _certainly_ on more than a first-name basis, now. Aren’t we, though, sir?”

“I thought you got off on people calling _you_ sir more,” Arthur says, pulling Merlin bodily over so that his chest is to Merlin’s back. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Yes, boss.”

“I won’t be this carefree. I can’t afford to. I’m not... as free with my affections. I’m reserved. Grumpy. Anal-retentive.” He sticks an outstretched palm in front of Merlin’s face, wriggling an arm around Merlin’s shoulder so they’re spooning and he can tick the points off his fingers, “I work weekends.”

“All those I know,” Merlin says, ticking the points off in time with his own fingers as well. He leans back, just enough so he can register Arthur’s look of surprise. “I’ve watched you for a while. You just didn’t notice.”

Arthur laughs quietly. “Oh, God. You stalker.”

“I did _not_. I just— I come back on weekends too to work. And you were always there, and you were all awkward and strict and nice at the same time. As though it was a good thing I was working Saturdays, but also not.”

“Uh, I’m the Managing Director. I have to encourage a good work-life balance.”

“Not like you ever took your own advice.” Arthur was the most driven person he knew at Pendragon Pharmaceuticals, and he was basically the second most powerful man behind the dragon logo.

“...No,” Arthur admits, after a pause. More softly, “Did you really watch me?”

“So now you’re encouraging creepy stalky behaviour? _I’m watching you,_ ” Merlin mimics an eerie falsetto.

“So now you’re admitting it?”

“Quit deflecting!”

“Speak for yourself. Answer my question.”

Merlin scratches at a spot on his chin, coughing. “I didn’t watch you creepily, at least. And I didn’t start out doing it deliberately.” 

Even he’s not sure when he’d started noticing Arthur more. There’d been that barely perceptible crush that’d lingered for a good while ever since the interview, but he’d tried not to think about how Arthur was everywhere or how good his boss looked in... well, anything, from the suits he wore during the week to the polos he had on when he worked weekends. Arthur had overseen all his projects, working late and around the clock almost as much as Merlin had – if not more with all his other responsibilities tied to other areas of the company – and the memory of his tense, drawn shoulders with his back turned to his office door right after Merlin had gotten him to sign some documents is one that Merlin won’t be forgetting anytime soon, not with how it’d damned near broken his heart to see Arthur like that.

He’d probably started then, out of concern, just to make sure Arthur wasn’t overworking himself and so he could tell him to take it easy during a particularly difficult week. Small glances, at first, whenever Arthur would walk the floor, building up to Merlin actively engaging Arthur more often in his office to discuss their projects as he grew steadily more confident in their interactions. And Arthur was a force of nature – his charisma and presence had always had made it very hard to tear Merlin’s eyes away from him. After a while, he just didn’t try.

Somewhere along the way, Merlin’s initial wary impression of Arthur at the interview and his reluctant attraction to him had shifted into a surprised, genuine admiration. Once he’d gotten used to dodging the sharper barbs from Arthur in the fast-paced environment of Pendragon Pharmaceuticals, Merlin learned to stand his ground through the whirlwinds of Arthur’s high-stress moods no matter how much Arthur had still intimidated him then. 

After many more late nights and a few more high-profile projects he’d worked with under Arthur’s management and sound business decisions, admiration had turned into respect; Arthur had brought Merlin and his entire team in for a directors’ meeting and lauded them for their good work in penetrating and dominating the magical pharmaceuticals market within a year, to the applause of everyone in the room. 

That had been the first time he’d seen a wide, real smile on Arthur’s face, and when he’d turned the full force of it on Merlin, all warmth and pride in what Merlin had achieved – Merlin had smiled back shakily, something bubbling in his chest he couldn’t quite name. Later that night when Arthur had toasted him with a flute of terribly expensive champagne, clapping him on the back and leaning in to murmur that hiring him was the best decision he’d ever made, he’d realised then over his third glass of wine while blushing furiously that it was already too late to do anything about it: he’d already gone off the deep end for Arthur.

“Why, something you liked?” Arthur says, and Merlin can feel his lips curving against his ear as he laughs quietly. “Ogling your boss. Should talk to HR about that.”

“You always looked so troubled.” He doesn’t rise to Arthur’s playful bait, taking Arthur’s hand in his own. Sure enough, Arthur’s chuckling fades. “Like you were under so much pressure, with the weight of the world on your shoulders. It made me feel a little helpless, sometimes, that we couldn’t make things easier for you.”

“Not the world,” Arthur says, after a moment. “Just an entire company with thousands of staff depending on me. I did — I do what I can. But sometimes, it’s too much, to know that so many things are hingeing on your next word.”

“You can’t just let go. I get it.” Even with his team and his hectic work schedule during the more high-performing months, Merlin can still choose to disengage. How must it be like for someone who doesn’t have the luxury to do that? “It’s just... I saw what it was doing to you, and I was concerned.”

Arthur links their fingers together. “That’s who I am. I am the company. It’s the legacy left to me, and it can consume my days. I wouldn’t want to worry you, if we... if I can have this. I don’t want you to have any less than what you deserve. And you deserve better than a taciturn workaholic.”

“Ha,” Merlin sighs. “I’m a workaholic, too, despite your attempts to, what, encourage a work-life balance. We’re clearly more suited for each other than you think.”

“It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t aspire to someone who can give you more of a life together, Merlin.” 

The cool knuckles down his face are trembling, and Merlin closes his eyes. “But do you want this?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, sad. “You have no idea.”

“If you’re willing to try,” Merlin says, rolling around so they’re face-to-face, “Then that’s good enough for me.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Things aren’t set in stone. But I’m willing to try, too.” He kisses Arthur once, soundly, before leaning in for another kiss, and another. “I want you, Arthur – the boy, the man, and everything in between.”

“Never figured you to be such a romantic,” Arthur teases with a smile, to Merlin’s relief.

“You’ll find I’m a man of many surprises.”

“Hmm.” The sheets are yanked back, and then Arthur’s hiking a leg up over Merlin’s hip, pushing Merlin down with one palm so that the mattress squeaks, dipping around their combined weight. “Are you, now?”

“Would you like to sign up for your free trial today?” It’s easy to just lift his hands, let them wander and trace random paths up Arthur’s knees and thighs. “Results guaranteed.”

“Of course results are guaranteed. Whether they’re positive is another matter.” Arthur snorts, undoing the drawstrings of his boxers. “You are utterly ridiculous, Merlin. I don’t know how I’m in your bed.”

“My animal magnetism?” Merlin suggests, only to get a flick on the ear from Arthur. “Really!”

“More like bespectacled, dorky magnetism. And your dick’s not half bad, either.”

“Good to see where your priorities lie,” Merlin says dryly, admiring the view as Arthur gets on his hands and knees, arms to the side of Merlin’s shoulders while Merlin tugs his boxers down. “Not half bad, he says. How encouraging.”

“I say not half bad—” And now it’s Arthur’s turn to pull Merlin’s flimsy shirt over his head. “—because I’ve yet to really give it a go.”

“Straight to the point. I knew you only wanted me for my cock.”

“I suppose I _could_ be persuaded to get the entire package.” Arthur sounds almost put-upon, but his hands stroking down Merlin’s sides say otherwise.

Merlin arches his back when Arthur curls his nails in over a sweet spot just above his hipbone. “What will I have to do to convince you I’m a good deal?” 

Grinning, Arthur kicks Merlin’s pants off the bed, where it lands with a faraway thump somewhere on the other side of the room. “Surprise me.”

“Brat.” Merlin pulls at Arthur’s arm so he stumbles and falls into the mass of pillows, before turning him around and pushing him up against the solid wooden headboard, their palms meeting where he has Arthur pinned, spreading Arthur’s arms wide and away from his body. “You think you can handle it?”

Arthur looks up at him, licking his lips, the briefest flicker of doubt in his eyes before they steel over with challenge. “Try me.”

“We have time,” Merlin murmurs, easing a pillow behind Arthur’s back, pushing him down gently. “Do you trust me?”

Tensing, Arthur tilts his head to look up at Merlin from where his hair’s fanning out on the wrinkled cotton, letting out a deep breath. “I do.”

“I won’t restrain your hands tonight,” Merlin says, rubbing a thumb over Arthur’s pulse point on his wrist, closing his eyes and feeling the barely perceptible thrum. If he didn’t know what he was searching for, he wouldn’t be able to sense it; the low hum of a child born of magic. “But magic can help hold you up in some really pleasurable positions, and I’d really like to make you feel good for your first time.”

Arthur turns his palm downwards to take Merlin’s hand, swallowing, and Merlin’s eyes are drawn to the nervous line of his throat. “Yeah. Still have to get used to the idea of letting go of control, but what you said — I’d like to try that.”

He presses his lips to the back of Arthur’s knuckles, nudging Arthur’s legs apart and hoisting one of them over his shoulder. “Like I said, plenty of time. Here...” Merlin murmurs a spell, holding Arthur’s leg up, drawing ripples of light in the air that braid into barely visible ropes around Arthur’s ankle. When he lets go of Arthur, the thick, magical rope has Arthur’s leg suspended in mid-air. “Flex. Move your leg. This is only supposed to hold your legs up, not to cause you any discomfort. How are you feeling?”

Arthur shakes his foot a little, stretching it out. “Strange, but fine.”

Merlin smiles, doing the same with Arthur’s other leg, stroking up his calf lightly before he fastens the rope. “You’ll get the hang of it.” When he’s done, he sits back and admires his handiwork: Arthur with his red-bitten lips, hands bunching in Merlin’s sheets restlessly with his legs wide open and suspended. He’s already half-hard, cock dribbling out more precome when Merlin takes him in hand. “Someone’s excited.”

“I can’t help it,” Arthur says in a dazed voice, shuddering, squeezing his eyes shut. “It feels— different—”

“Oh.” Merlin blinks. “Yes, sometimes magic can influence non-users. I forgot about that. You might feel like you’re a little drunk, a little more, um. Sensitive.” There’s something to be said about being one of the more powerful magic users in his generation – it augments the fuck out of his sex life, and Merlin’s not complaining.

Arthur smiles lazily at him, sliding a hand down his stomach and covering Merlin’s fingers on his cock, getting them wet and slick. “It’s nice.”

Shaking his head, Merlin lies on his stomach, scooting forward on his elbows. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay? It can be a bit overwhelming if you’re not used to all this magic.”

“Mmhm,” Arthur agrees absently, humming as he looks at Merlin with half-lidded eyes, teasing his hole. Merlin just stares, hand on Arthur’s cock forgotten. “Get me some lube, will you? I’ll have to do something about it if you’re going to leave me high and dry.”

“I’m not that cruel! You’re just impatient.” He squeezes a generous amount onto Arthur’s palm and arse anyway, just to have the pleasure of seeing Arthur ease himself open. There are times Merlin can admit honestly to himself just how depraved he is. “Show me.”

“Pervert.” Merlin’s not disappointed, though – Arthur’s still as much of an exhibitionist as he’d expected, reaching around his legs to part his cheeks and bare himself for Merlin, showing him just how slick he is with the lube dripping down his inner thighs and glistening around his entrance. He rubs the pad of his finger over the entrance, laughing a little drunkenly. “Want to help me out?”

“What did you have in mind?” Merlin murmurs, kissing the side of Arthur’s thigh, stilling Arthur’s circling finger. 

“Open me up,” Arthur says huskily, finally pushing one finger to the knuckle, twisting. “Want your fingers inside, too.”

“I live to serve.” He would happily service Arthur as a sex slave, too, honestly, if he could just toy with this arse all day. Arthur’s still a little stretched from the night before, and it’s easy to just slip another finger in next to Arthur’s. “Like this?”

Wiggling, Arthur hooks his ankles behind Merlin’s neck, heel bumping against the dip of Merlin’s spine. “Yeah.”

He humours Arthur for a bit, matching Arthur’s shallow thrusts for a few torturous minutes before he stills Arthur’s hand, coaxing him to pull out. “Nice show,” Merlin says, and he means it, leaning in to kiss at the quivery skin between Arthur’s thigh and hipbone. “Now it’s my turn.”

Taking a deep breath, Arthur covers his eyes with his arm, chuckling nervously. “Show-off.”

“I want to taste you.” He sits back against the sheets, stretching out his long legs to both sides of Arthur’s body. When he licks and takes one of Arthur’s balls in his mouth, Arthur cries out softly, his feet trembling where they’re held up. “Fuck you with my tongue.”

“That’s,” Arthur manages, making to close his legs almost reflexively. “Wait, how do you—”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, meeting Arthur’s eyes as he drags a pillow over. “I’m going to eat you out,” he says slowly, watching Arthur’s eyes widen and glaze over as he pushes another finger back into Arthur’s hole with a wet _shlick_. “Right here.”

Arthur looks absolutely scandalised, face flushing even redder. “ _Merlin_.”

The pillow fits nicely under the small of Arthur’s back, giving him additional support with all the suspension. “Do you want me to stop?” Merlin asks, with only the barest twinge of regret. As much as he wants to reduce Arthur into a sobbing mess with just his mouth and tongue... “I will, you know. If you say.”

He feels fingers curling in his hair the same time he hears Arthur’s sharp exhale. “No.”

“No, as in you don’t want me to do this?”

“No, as in I trust you.” Arthur swallows, reaching down with his hands to spread his arse cheeks for Merlin. He can’t even look Merlin in the eye. “This is... mortifying.”

“Aren’t all the best things in life?” Merlin grins, licking down the musky, lube-slicked skin down to Arthur’s rim. “This is one of the few fantasies of mine that trump all other fantasies.”

“Mm?”

“Your desk is massive.” He palms Arthur’s arse, breathing over the tight clench. “If not for all that paperwork everywhere, it would be perfect for... other things.”

“With great power comes—”

“Great responsibility?” Merlin suggests, and gets a light flick to his ear.

“No, the great burden of needing to sign and authorise everything.” Letting out a stuttered sigh, Arthur rolls his head back, hair curling messy and wet over his ear, at the nape of his neck. “Can’t have all those important documents getting dirty. What if it was something _you_ needed me to sign?”

“I’ll just reissue it.” Slow, tentative lick over the pucker, pressing in with his lips, and Merlin has to stifle a smile when Arthur shudders all over despite himself. He dips in again with his tongue, getting Arthur’s already slick hole even wetter, liking how it sounds. “It’ll give me a reason to see you. And maybe get more documents dirty so you’ll give up and come home with me.”

“You know I — mm — work late—”

“Take a break,” Merlin cajoles. Arthur’s cock is dripping too, absolutely filthy, and it makes Merlin want to lick every inch of Arthur’s skin, bite and tease to map out all the hidden places to make him fall apart, make him beg. “A long one. Just imagine it – all the paperwork on the side for once, a full hour. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll spread you out over the desk, your fine linen shirt falling off your shoulders, your legs spread and feet arching off the floor as I worship and play with your arse until you come.”

He starts circling his tongue lightly inside Arthur, as much as he can manage, pulling out every now and then to lap leisurely over the crease, pleased when Arthur begins to moan in earnest, trying to roll his hips to grind up into the wet warmth of Merlin’s mouth. “Been thinking about it, I see,” Arthur says breathlessly, fingers twisting tighter in Merlin’s hair whenever Merlin starts jabbing in with his tongue.

“It didn’t cross my mind, at first.” Arthur feels hot and thick in his hand, balls drawn up tight and ready to burst, but Merlin grips him sure and slow, thumbing the head. “But then you bent over your desk once to get something. Jesus. That view.”

“You should make me an offer—” A gasp, a tremble and a bitten off groan. “That I can’t resist.” 

“I like it when management is open to negotiation.” Merlin snaps his fingers, the magical ropes lengthening slightly so that Arthur’s legs hang a little lower. “For starters, how about I fuck you into the mattress?”

“It’s about time,” Arthur grouses, face flushed and his eyes half-closed from Merlin’s relentless teasing. “I’ve only been waiting for years.”

“Flattering. Would you rather be on your knees? I hear it’s easier for a first time.” Merlin rubs at one gently as he speaks.

Arthur covers Merlin’s hand with his own, stilling it. “No. I — I want to see you.” He rests the back of a hand on his forehead, looking up at Merlin. “I meant it – I’ve waited a long time for someone I could have this with. And I’m glad it’s you.”

“Cheesy.” He doesn’t mean it, and leans forward between Arthur’s legs to kiss him. It’s a little awkward, navigating around the suspended limbs and the warm, magic bindings not budging from where they’re conjured, but he manages with some effort. “I’m glad it’s me, too.”

Hands circle around Merlin’s neck, bringing him closer. “Mmm. Now with all that romantic sentiment over, can we get down to business?”

“So transactional.” Merlin positions one of Arthur’s legs over his shoulder. He’s never been more grateful for the magical rope suspension trick he’d picked up from his days in his university’s lab, even if his professor would absolutely give him _the_ stern eyebrow of disapproval if he ever found out. Good old Dr. Gaius. “Are you all right?”

“ _Yeeeees_ ,” Arthur says, drawing the word out and rolling his eyes, but his hand is shaking where he’s clutching at Merlin’s arm.

Merlin takes it, pressing it down to the side of Arthur’s shoulder, spreading Arthur’s fingers so they’re palm-to-palm. “Hey, you. Easy there,” he murmurs. “We don’t have to go so fast, you know.”

“I know.” Arthur wraps his legs around Merlin’s waist, tight. “Shut up, I’m just nervous. Don’t you dare say a word.”

“And you _are_ okay?” Merlin says, smiling privately.

“I am. Honest.”

“All systems go?”

“ _Yes_ , Merlin.”

“Can we proce—”

“You are utterly insufferable,” Arthur says, bursting into laughter as Merlin bumps their foreheads together, grinning. “Do it. Please, just — fuck me.”

It’s easier than expected, lining himself up so Arthur’s taking him in slowly. He brushes Arthur’s hair away from where it’s stuck on his forehead, gripping Arthur’s hip and watching Arthur scrunch his eyes shut, jaw tight and locked. “Relax,” he says, stilling, licking his palm and reaching down again to tug at Arthur’s cock. “C’mon, let me...”

“I am,” Arthur huffs, but some of the tension leaves him as he arches at Merlin’s touch. “ _Oh_. Move. I can take it.”

“What’s the rush?” Merlin complies anyway, pushing forward in a slow slide, making Arthur keen; the sound goes straight to his dick. “God. I love the way you sound when you lose control.”

Arthur crosses his ankles where they meet at the lower curve of Merlin’s back, ropes flashing into visibility when they’re brushed. “So make me.”

Gone is the nervous boy, full of hot wind and bravado; gone is the man who’d wanted this for so long, unsure of when he’d find what he was looking for – only to discover fate works to deliver what we wish for in the most mysterious and rewarding of ways. 

It’s just them, now, stripped bare, right down to how Arthur looks at him with a gaze that must be mirrored in Merlin’s own. Determined, a little unsure, but unafraid.

Overcome, Merlin just smiles. “Yes.”

He loses track of what they do: sometime after Arthur comes for the first time that night all over them both, Merlin vanishes the ropes and pulls Arthur around, just so he can have the pleasure of seeing Arthur on his knees, turning around to look at Merlin over his shoulder as he’s being fucked, mouths forming little slack-jawed _ohs_ of pleasure as Merlin presses him down.

Merlin reintroduces the ropes after – keeping Arthur’s wrists and feet bound to all four corners of the bed as he climbs all over him, nuzzling down Arthur’s shivering nape, sucking little bruises in a row down the length of his spine. “You have a gorgeous back,” Merlin says between kisses, touching Arthur everywhere. “And so _sensitive_.”

“You’re the only one who’s ever,” Arthur begins, before bucking up, unable to help himself. “Fuck. Being with a man’s just... so different.”

“Maybe it’s just me,” Merlin says, licking down to Arthur’s tailbone. “Maybe you just like being bossed around. Being pinned down. Don’t you?” He’s under no illusions that Arthur could throw him off anytime if he so wished, with his build, and has probably not been in a position where he could enjoy being powerless, bound by Merlin’s magic and his own desire to be dominated. 

At the end of it, Arthur’s humping the mattress, making keening, whining noises when Merlin slips his hand between Arthur’s hot skin and the sheets, holding him as he parts Arthur’s cheeks again, licking at his used hole until he’s cleaned him up some and Arthur’s begging to— “Merlin, let me come, let me, _please_ —”

“Mmm, since you asked so nicely.” Merlin lies back on the bed, pulling Arthur on top of him by his arm. He grips the back of Arthur’s nape, pulling his head back to kiss down his neck, ignoring the sting from Arthur’s nails digging into his back as he sinks back into Merlin’s lap, cock slipping in and out of Merlin’s fist. “There’s a lad,” he murmurs, squeezing, stroking until Arthur starts to shake, moaning Merlin’s name into his ear. “Yes, Arthur, yes—”

“I hate you,” Arthur says, the intended vitriol coming out half-baked as he nuzzles at Merlin’s jaw, panting while Merlin milks him, stroking him until he’s completely spent. “You are _such_ a tease.”

“Good things come to those who wait,” Merlin says, raising his eyebrow and cupping Arthur’s face, grinning. 

“Bastard.” Arthur grumbles, leaning into the touch.

“You know I’m right.” He strokes Arthur’s bottom lip with his thumb. “They did for me.”

Huffing, Arthur shakes his head and pushes Merlin down to the bed, snaking his arms around Merlin like a possessive koala and its tree. “Charmer.”

Merlin kisses the top of that now messy tuft of golden hair, pulling the covers up over them both. “Just speaking the truth.”

Arthur mumbles something into Merlin’s neck.

“Hmm?”

“I said, me too.”

“Charmer,” Merlin echoes right back at him.

“Learned from the best.”

Arthur squeezes him tighter, and Merlin strokes his hair until Arthur’s breathing evens out. He rests a hand over and around Arthur’s shoulder, looking out the window as the starlit black fades, bringing with it the light of a new day.

Merlin grits his teeth. 

Today decides everything.

* * *

“This is embarrassing,” Arthur mumbles when they’ve reached Pendragon Pharmaceuticals, fidgeting with the too-loose sleeves of his grown-up clothes. “I look like I’m playing dress-up.”

“We’ve seen you in that suit several times,” Merlin says, not looking fully at Arthur, feeling a nervous lump in his throat even as he laughs.

“Yes, but.” An all-encompassing wave. “This, I mean.”

Merlin curls a hand around Arthur’s shoulder, bringing him closer to press his lips to the mess of hair. “Your new clothes might prove a bit too tight for you when we give you the antidote. Don’t fret. What happens in my department stays in my department.”

Arthur side-eyes him. “What _do_ you get up to when you have time off official projects?”

Stepping smartly away from Arthur, Merlin shrugs. “We’re scientists. We’re... creative.”

“No sewing bits of dead rodents together and hooking them up to lightning, I hope? I mean, you _are_ under my employment, and if there’s anything funny going on—”

Well, Merlin’s never going to bring up his ill-advised foray into magical gene splicing anytime soon. “Give me some credit,” he deadpans, eyes fixed on the climbing numbers as the lift inches towards his department’s floor. “If I were to do anything of the sort, I’d magick up a chimera.”

“I don’t... actually know if you’re joking,” Arthur says, staring, reaching out for Merlin’s hand.

Merlin squeezes it before leaning back against the wall of the lift. 

A smooth voice announces they’ve arrived at the Magical R&D Department. “Stick around,” he says, shaky smile betraying him, “and you might find out.”

“Merlin—”

“It’s fine.” Merlin ushers him out, shaking his head. “It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” He certainly hopes so.

Everything’s been done, he notes when the laboratory doors swing shut. A small drinking glass has been placed on a table, the bulk of the equipment has been tidied up and put away. Even Carla has been placed properly in her small glass tank this time; she perks up when she hears them walking towards her, running around excitedly before pawing the glass in interest. 

Of course, his team chooses to be the most efficient they’ve ever been on the day he wouldn’t have minded having things stay the way they are for a little while longer.

“Crossed all the _t_ ’s and dotted all the _i_ ’s,” Merlin says wryly. “For once.”

“We figured you’d want to get it over and done with,” Gwaine says. Next to him, Freya’s expression seems to suggest otherwise, but she says nothing. 

Merlin swallows. “Well. Yes. So—”

“This is it,” Arthur says, stepping forward. 

“It is.” He places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Um. Whenever you want to. Are you ready?”

Arthur stays silent for a moment, until he looks up at Merlin. 

“Are you?”

“I...” Merlin’s hand falters, and he drops his arms to his sides. He can’t meet Arthur’s eyes. “You’re stalling,” he jokes weakly. “After you drink it, I’ll cast the counter-spell. I have the strongest magic here, so I have the highest chance of stabilising the volatile reversal process.”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Arthur picks up the small glass gingerly, fingers on the rim. He lifts it to his lips, and, completely out of the blue, winks at Merlin. “But,” he says, smirking. “How’s that gonna work? You’ve _already_ cast a spell on me.”

“Oh, just drink the bloody thing,” Merlin mumbles, reddening, smiling despite himself as the others, too, begin to grin and laugh.

“As you say.” 

There’s a lot less drama and chaos this time around. Merlin would almost call it uneventful. Arthur downs the cure, Merlin chants for a bit, and then it’s over. There’s no bright explosion of light for the spell reversal, no unexpected noises.

The only thing that’s different in the room is the man who stands before him now, instead of where the boy was scant minutes ago.

The frown lines are back on Arthur’s face, the heavy set of his broad shoulders filling out the rumpled suit that now fits him perfectly. He’s as Merlin remembers him, but after getting used to the younger, cheerful Arthur, he’s not sure what to expect. He looks older, sterner – nothing like the seventeen-year-old who’d kissed him in wild abandon and who likes cookies and cream.

At least, until he smiles. “Merlin.”

His heart beating faster, Merlin stammers, “Arthur–” The room begins to spin as Arthur steps towards him, pulling him forward by his arm.

There are no more words, because Arthur chooses that time to kiss him.

A dumbfounded silence descends over everyone like a blanket. Well, for a few seconds. Gwaine’s the first one to break it, cheering, “Yes!” while Freya gasps in surprise. What the team is seeing eventually sinks in, and, to Merlin’s mortification, they then begin to _clap._

“Good on you!”

“Whoa–”

“Go, Mr. Emrys!”

Arthur doesn’t let go, his hand splayed on Merlin’s back as he tilts him over so it’s almost a dip. Merlin closes his eyes, blushing furiously, shutting out the sight of his team cheering him on like a horde of fans at a concert. 

“You’re having dinner with me tonight,” Arthur says, his voice back to its normal cadences. Merlin’s knees promptly decide to betray him, going weak and wobbly like the lovestruck teenager he really is inside. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Merlin blinks, curling his fingers in the front of Arthur’s shirt. “Well,” he says, pulling himself upright and recovering quite magnificently, “Then I believe I’m choosing.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, an expression that’s odd on his older face now, but no less endearing. "What will you be choosing, then?"

"You." Merlin says, grinning. "Every single day."

"That's such a terrible—" Arthur grimaces, but he stifles a laugh anyway. "But I'll hold you to it."

And Arthur's smile just like that, Merlin thinks, is a promise.


End file.
